Chapter Six
"Napoleon," Illya hissed out, causing the steam from his breath to puncture the air on the cold New Year's Eve night. "Where have you been? You were to be here over two hours ago."
"Something came up and I had to deal with it." Napoleon said in a simple voice and tone that told Illya that this wasn't the time or place to discuss it. "You've done a great job and it's almost over with."
"Great praise," Illya said in a halted calm, wondering what had turned Napoleon more gray and foreboding than usual. "No, I needed your social graces to deal the wives, one in particular, a Mrs. Van Meer. She's very intent on finding out about my non-existent royal family history and tried to converse in her limited abilities to speak Russian."
"I'm sorry I missed the show," Napoleon lightened up a little, shaking hands with Grant Hamilton as he drew near to them
"Mr. Solo," The smiling man said, returning the firm hand shake. "Your presences at tonight's meal was missed. Mr. Kuryakin was regaling us with a story from your college years on how you won trophies in Track and Field, especially in the javelin throwing event."
"I must remember to thank you later, Mr. Kuryakin, and what of his past?" Napoleon retorted, watching his partner closely, both of them trying hard to play it light and failing miserably with each other. "Mr. Hamilton, did he tell you about that as well?"
"He said it was classified by his and our governments." Hamilton smirked, playing along with the friendly banter. "Mr. Kuryakin, Mrs. Van Meer is looking for you, she's looking for some entertainment while her husband and the mayor have started to talk shop again."
"Well, duty calls, Illya." Napoleon nodded as he patted the grimacing man on the shoulder and pushed him toward the group of delegates. "Don't worry, everything is in place and I'm here to help supervise."
"I can hardly wait." A low, quiet growl rang softly to his partner's ear after Illya had already turned to leave, stopping in front of an elderly lady, bowing, and kissing the offered hand before he wrapped it around his extended arm to usher her into a waiting limousine.
Illya thought Napoleon didn't see the worried look that he had given him. After all these years as partners, friends, and brothers, Illya knew that he wasn't telling him everything and something important was going on. He hoped it was about Lexi, but couldn't risk it by asking those kinds of questions right now. Waiting and watching were the best things he could do right now.
But, Napoleon did notice Illya's look of concern and cringed inside for not being able to tell Illya this as they stood outside in the freezing cold. The plan to finish the mission at midnight hinged on Illya not knowing that he just sent a cleanup crew to finish gathering up two dead bodies in New City Hospital and that Lexi was taken to surgery when he had left headquarters.
"So, Mr. Hamilton," Napoleon addressed the slightly taller man while rubbing his gloved hands for warmth. "Did you bring your wife to the main event of the new year?"
"Fanny," Hamilton filled in his wife's name. "She's here somewhere helping with the ladies. She's such a great help in functions like these. I doubt that I'll see her until the ball is ready to drop. We always start the year off with a kiss. It's a tradition of ours."
"It's good to have traditions." Napoleon agreed with a nod. Usually Caitlin and he went out on New Year's as well. "Well, everything seems to be going smoothly."
"Yes," Hamilton nodded. "Mr. Kuryakin is very thorough. Ah, our ride is here, shall we go? It's a short ride to Times Square."
"After you," Napoleon gestured to him as they entered the limo with the mayor in it.
"Thank you, Mr. Solo."
MFU/MFU
Like Illya, all Napoleon could do right now was purposely pace his end of the slightly raised platform, talk with some of the delegates, and listened to the reports from other agents as they checked in over his headset.
He was lucky, Napoleon thought to himself as he was positioned near enough to the portable heaters to stay warm through the last minutes of the old year. Illya, on the other hand, wasn't so lucky yet again.
Although he knew his partner was personally suffering it didn't stop each of them from enjoying the petty little torments the other endured during their assignments. For Illya tonight, it had to be in the much colder part of the platform with not only the amorous Mrs. Van Meer trying to distract him, but also the American Ambassador from the Soviet Union who decided that this was a good time to examine his fellow countryman.
At first, it was the burly senior Russian watching with amusement at the patience mixed with distress the younger man displayed while he continued his patrol on the dais. Finally, the superior officer signaled Illya over to him. What could Illya do, Napoleon thought, but take a moment to go to the heavy wool-coated man and stand at attention as they exchanged a few words. With a quick nod from his partner, Napoleon watched him go back to his position.
Napoleon looked at his watch, with the music and noise ever increasing; he knew the countdown was within three minutes.
"Mr. Solo."
Napoleon jumped. He was so caught off guard by the sudden appearance of Grant Hamilton.
"Mr. Hamilton." Napoleon recovered quickly and turned to the man and wife he had within his grasp. "I assume that this is Mrs. Hamilton."
"Fanny," she said with a smile as he took her hand and gave it a soft kiss. "For a while, I thought that Grant had made you up, but now I can see that he wanted you all to himself."
"We haven't missed a New Year's kiss in ten years," the lovely looking lady commented as she hugged her husband tighter. "I'm not about to let his work get in the way of that."
"Well spoken, my dear." Hamilton smirked and let go of his wife. "But, I must talk with Mr. Kuryakin before the countdown. I'll be right back."
Napoleon grimaced; the hair on the back of his neck started to prickle as he scanned the steps by him to see George slowly, like a robot, walk up by the steps by him with a gun at his side, his finger on the trigger.
"George!" Napoleon called out as he tried to walk around Fanny to grab at the UNCLE agent, but was stopped short by a gun pointed at his mid-section.
"Don't try to stop him, Solo." Fanny pushed Napoleon back, closer to the railing and put herself in his line of fire.
"What about your New Year's kiss?" he asked with his hands up, giving up any protest.
"I can wait a little longer for my kiss this year until after I kill you." Fanny increased the pressure of the barrel into Napoleon's ribs. "I want you to watch the show first."
He watched closely as George made his way closer to the mayor, his gun held straight out at the turned man. He watched in horror as most of the people on the platform were lost in the moment of the lighted ball sparkling in the night sky and raised voices counting down the last ten seconds.
Turning toward George, the mayor looked at the man standing in front of him, dumbfounded to see him there with a gun pointed at him. George said something that Napoleon couldn't hear through the chaotic noise. After that, all he could see was the startled look on the mayor's face. Then, the man fell back into the people crowded around him. The sound of the shot was lost within the shouts and music. It was the mayor's wife who noticed he was down and had not just fallen. She pushed at the man's shoulders and started to scream for those around her to help, but nothing was heard by those around. Another "pop" was heard.
"No!" Fanny screamed in pain and lessened her pressure with the gun on Napoleon's side and he used that moment to wrench the weapon from her hand and pulled her arms behind her back.
As the confusion died down, he looked back to the mayor to see April Dancer with George's gun in her hand, checking on the prone UNCLE chemist, and helping the mayor back up.
"Mr. Solo," Lead Section Three agent, Reece came up to him. "Are you all right?"
"Yes and this little Thrushie is Fanny," Napoleon said as she started to struggle and cry even harder. "She's in this with Hamilton. Take care of her for me."
"You killed him! Bastard!" Fanny spatted out at Reece and Napoleon.
"Sorry, love," Napoleon quipped. "No New Year's kiss this year."
"You didn't have to kill him," she cried out in desperation.
Napoleon looked to Reece to see if he knew what she was talking about. Reece leaned close enough to him to talk into his ear without shouting through the crowd of people trying to making their way to the limos. Other Section Three agents were herding the dignitaries quickly off the platform in front of them. Talks of a dead body peppered the motley conversations.
"Shit!" Napoleon nodded, giving the hysterically sobbing THRUSH agent to Reece. He wanted to run to where he last saw Illya and Hamilton stood, but had to check on the mayor first. Hamilton had been shot and Illya was injured, but Reece didn't know how badly.
Quickly walking to April and the unconscious George, Napoleon nodded his approval to her for completing her part of the plan perfectly.
"Did George suspect anything when you checked his clip?" he asked even while he searched through the crowd for his partner. "I didn't see any problems with the mayor's acting."
"I can handle this Napoleon," April pushed him back from the group of people enough to talk to him quietly. "Go tell him. Waverly shut off his communicator to headquarters for a while. He needs to know that we found her. The surgery is still going on."
"I owe you, April, for your woman's intuition and Mark…" Napoleon gave her a quick kiss on the cheek.
"When don't you?" April asked and smiled. "Go!"
Napoleon gave April's arm a squeeze and continued to the opposite side of the wooden platform. A crowd of people blocked his view until someone shouted to clear the way. Then he heard the sweetest words he could imagine ring out into the cold, wintery air.
"I can walk! Choyrt! I'm fine. It's only a small gunshot wound. I've had worse and haven't been strapped down to a gurney either!"
"Lieutenant Comrade!" The deep-guttural bark threatened. "You're to let the medics help you or I will personally carry you all the way to UNCLE myself over my shoulder."
The rest was said in Russian and personally to Illya without either one of them breaking eye contact. With a sharp nod from the blond agent, the ambassador let go of the handles to the gurney and straightened up. With a blank face, Illya crossed his arms over his disheveled and bloodied coat. He remained silent as they took him to a waiting ambulance. Napoleon knew that he wanted to do. He wanted find Lexi; not head to medical with a bullet in his shoulder.
MFU/MFU
Napoleon waited for Illya's gurney to be loaded into the ambulance before he jumped in to silently watch the blow-by-blows actions between Illya and the medics: arguing with them about how much he needed done, where to start an IV, and that he didn't need or want morphine. He didn't want to be drugged even though he was reeling in pain. It was easy for Napoleon to tell Illya was in pain by how white his knuckles got just gripping the blanket that covered him
With a sad smile, Napoleon finally cleared his throat so Illya would focus on him and let the medics do their job. He looked up at him, hoping to bring Napoleon into this battle of wills and help him get free so he could go on his search, but Napoleon just shook his head.
"Aren't you going to help me?"
Illya didn't even try to hide his anger and distress. He'd done his duty to UNCLE and now he wasn't going to be denied. Napoleon cringed in sympathy at the hurt expression on his face.
"Illya," Napoleon softly said, clearing his dry throat again. "I found her. She was shot and is still in surgery."
After a few quiet moments of Illya staring at his partner with ice blue, penetrating eyes, and finally he gave a medic his arm to start an IV. Then he leaned against the raised back of the gurney and let the other medic dress his shoulder wound.
"No Morphine."
After the medic stabilized the bleeding, Napoleon switched places with one of the medics so he could sit close to Illya's wounded shoulder and talked softly into his ear. He began his story about April's meddling concerning Mark's dream, the trip to Medical to see Mark talking with Sheppard and Samuel, and what he found at the THRUSH satrapy including the dead bodies and Lexi's condition.
Napoleon had just finished telling Illya what he needed to know as they entered UNCLE's parking garage. Both doors opened up to more medical personnel waiting to greet the two agents. Not a word was spoken as the procession made its way into the main medical treatment room.
The gurney wheels had barely been locked before Illya looked up at Napoleon and said in a tiny, determined voice. "Help me, please."
Napoleon already knew what Illya wanted to do and he wasn't going to stop him. With a nod, he released the straps across Illya's legs and hips and helped him up on unsteady legs. He grabbed his friend's trembling arm and helped him out of the exam room despite the protests of the medical staff.
"Yes, yes, it's enough!" Napoleon shouted. "He'll be back shortly. I promise."
Chapter Seven
Although the dual surgical suites and recovery area were less than fifty feet from the emergent treatment room, it was a long painful walk for Napoleon. Illya had faltered in his step a couple of times and remained deadly silent. It scared him to think what his Russian friend was thinking and what he might do in revenge.
Then, suddenly it dawned on him. Illya was Lexi's life line to the world, as he'd been for Illya. People had thought Illya was hard-nosed, lacking in humor, and social skills, but that was mostly an image that he played while he was overcoming his troubling past.
Through the years, Napoleon found him to be warm, funny, caring, and willing to take on immense responsibilities, including causing death for the good of the many. He was what Lexi needed to prevent the falling off the edge of sanity that their early conditioning and training created. She needed him to surpass what they were and be more. Illya was trying to save her in the way that she could accept and work with.
He just realized that Lexi was becoming more like Illya the longer she was here with him at UNCLE. She allowed herself to feel things more openly and developed new friendships. She was learning to love and care for others on a whole new level; she wasn't the unsympathetic killer she was trained to be. She'd come a long way because of Illya and others in UNCLE.
The doors to the OR banged open in front of the shuffling agents, breaking Napoleon's train of thought. Surgeons, Sheppard and Allen, steered the OR cart to the adjacent room and hooked up the monitors again. A whirl of doctors and nurses buzzed around the small space.
"Gentlemen," a strong voice of their commanding Section One Head stopped them from entering the chaotic activity. "I was just about to call you about Miss Lane's status, but I believe that you have beaten me here. Mr. Kuryakin, I don't believe that you have been released from Medical's care to be standing in this hallway."
"No, sir," Illya said firmly with a sour look on his face. It was almost a challenge to Mr. Waverly to try and stop him. "I had to see her."
"Yes," Waverly quietly agreed. "But make it quick, before you start bleeding all over the floor. It will also give the medical staff a chance to clean the Operating Theater for your surgery. I'll hear no more of you refusing treatment after this. Mr. Solo will make sure you keep that promise."
"Yes sir, I will." Napoleon nodded with a sense of relief that Waverly wasn't angry as much as concerned for his enforcement agents.
"Good, now let us go and find out how Miss Lane is doing."
Waverly gestured them forward into the recovery area as most of the medical staff had now departed to get prepared for the next patient. The surgeons were there to greet the men they blocked their view of the patient.
"Ah, Mr. Kuryakin," Allen turned as the men approached. "My spies told me to expect a visit from you and your conspirators before you'd let anyone touch you. Now, before I let you pass, I get to have a quick look at that wound and no butts about it. I can't have my nurses' upset that I don't know what to prepare for in the OR. It's bad enough to be working New Year's, but all night long as well. I'd like to keep them happy somehow. You and Napoleon owe them each a bouquet flowers and a box of chocolates."
Illya rolled his eyes up a fraction before nodding as he let Allen pull a section of the pressure dressing loose to see the damage the stray bullet had cause. The pain and renewed bleeding caused him to swoon enough for Napoleon to place a supporting arm around his waist.
"Well, you're just like Lane here and wanted to keep the bullet with you into the next year," Allen sighed dramatically and waved to Napoleon to bring Illya closer to Lexi's stretcher. "I'm going to make the arrangements and Paul will tell you about Lane. Well, as much as we know at this point. I may need your help with the rest to explain what her true condition is."
Illya stopped the man with a firm hand on his arm before he could pass. Looking squarely in the eye, he simply said, "Thank you."
Stunned, Allen glared shrewdly at Illya for a few moments and then gave him a hard smile. "Don't keep me waiting. It's your turn to take care of her and help keep her alive from what she's suffered. I've done all I can for now."
Letting go of Allen's arm, Illya swallowed roughly as he took the last few steps to the side rail of the transport cart that held a frail, small person with multiple, colored tubes running from her body. Illya grabbed the cool, metal bar to steady himself, before reaching to stroke her buzzed head.
"She's not as bad off as she looks," Dr. Paul Sheppard's strong steady voice rang out and threw something toward Illya's good side, which he easily caught. "Here, a present for the New Year and don't say I never give you anything."
Illya opened his hand to reveal a small glass jar with a white, enameled lid. Shaking it, the damaged bullet tinkled as it struck the sides. Illya smirked as he handed the jar to Napoleon for evidence.
"We found it embedded in her T12 vertebra, pinching her spinal cord. Her legs will feel numb and be weak for quite a while as the spinal shock wears off, but she's already moving her toes some."
"Spinal shock," Napoleon asked. "What's that?"
"Trauma to the spinal cord causes it to spasm and won't work at a level higher than the true sight of injury at her thoracic vertebrae 11." Paul explained, bringing his large, flat, black, hand to his abdomen. "She may have trouble feeling and moving everything lower than this."
"Dr. Sheppard," Mr. Waverly's voice broke in. "What are these puncture marks by Miss Lane's eyes?"
"I don't know," Paul pulled his scrub hat off in frustration. "We hadn't had time to check out much more until we fixed the bullet wound and the bleeding. Other than those marks, a few scrapes and bruises, the only thing we noticed were more puncture marks bilaterally on each side of her abdomen, odd. We're waiting for the blood work to be finished."
"Those look like lobotomy marks," Illya curtly informed the group through clinched teeth as he continues to stare at Lexi's pale, somber face. "Dr. Gregor Vollef of Poland was the top scientist in Eastern Europe for his experiments on the human brain. He believed that he could control human behavior by the selective cutting of nerve branches in the frontal cortex lobe of the brain through the eye sockets, but he's been dead for years."
"Gregor," Napoleon Thoughtfully asked. "That's what Lexi called the dead man in the room with her."
"Not as dead as we were lead to believe, eh, Mr. Kuryakin." Waverly said with a stern gaze. "The cleanup crew identified the two dead men at the satrapy in the New City General Hospital. Seth Bower was a minor THRUSH doctor assigned to brainwash Dr. Thompson to shoot the mayor of New York. The other one is Dr. Jakob Stellan. He's one of the top men at THRUSH Central. He's eluded us and several governmental enforcement agencies since he became known to us. His death has caused a very big rip in THRUSH's armor. This may be the beginning of the end for them."
"Gregor Vollef was an associate to General Boris Kuryakin and Alexana's commanding officer for a while when we were younger…"
"Yes, Mr. Kuryakin." Waverly stopped him abruptly. "I remember what happened. I don't think we want to relive that experience again right now."
Napoleon raised his head in question. He was missing something that was going on between Illya and Waverly. So was Dr. Paul as he went to check Lexi's breathing with his stethoscope and then look into her eyes with a penlight.
The flash of light in Lexi's eyes woke her up enough to let out a big sigh, but she didn't open them. Instead, her head began its sickening, rhythmic jerk to the left the more conscious she became.
Suddenly, her blue eyes snapped open and frantically looked around. Tears started to well up as Lexi began to turn her head to focus on the people around the bed. She held very still, almost afraid to move, looking down to see her hand being held and following the arm up to who held it, but no recognition showed in her face.
"Pain…" Lexi softly moaned, pulling her hand from Illya's and awkwardly pointed to her head as it jerked. "Got…save…Illya…George."
"Lexi," Illya said firmly to get her attention and attempted to hold her hand again while she closed her droopy eyes. "I'm right here, I'm fine and George's going to be, well, George when we get him treated. Can't you see me? Paul?"
"Her pupils are reacting to the light, but she's still pretty out of it." Paul said cautiously, flashing his penlight into her eyes again. "Could be the swelling around her eyes that's distorting her vision…"
"Ask her something in that language you share," Napoleon suggested. He swallowed impatiently as he knew that Illya was running out of strength to stand even with his support.
Illya nodded while trying to hide his fear and started to ramble cheerfully to her about how he'd missed her and how dare she missed their time together for the holidays. Why didn't she tell him that they were to bring Chinese food to George's house?
Through this, they could tell Lexi was listening with closed eyes, but didn't comment other than to frown or grimace at different times.
"Comrade Kuryakin!" Napoleon shouted to everyone's surprise, including Lexi, because she instantly popped her eyes open and looked straight at Napoleon. It had worked once, maybe again. "Who are you?"
"Lieutenant Comrade Alexana Sonja Kuryakin."
"Who is in this room with you?" Napoleon barked sharply again.
"Illya Kuryakin, Alexander Waverly, Napoleon Solo, and Paul Sheppard," her voice hoarse from the endotracheal tube called out with no emotion or inflection.
"This mission isn't complete. You will rest now and report later to Mr. Waverly and me. Is that understood?" Napoleon ordered. "You'll understand that both Illya and George are safe and taken care of."
"Yes…sir," Lexi's weak voice faltered with a head jerk as she closed her eyes and fell back asleep.
"You," Napoleon said in the same commanding voice, pointing his finger at his stunned partner. "Will now go back to the treatment room and get ready for surgery."
Before he could protest, Mr. Waverly took Illya's other arm, helped Napoleon turn him around, and hustled him out of the room.
"I believe that Mr. Solo has set the tone. We'll look into Miss Lane's well-being after we take care of yours, Mr. Kuryakin."
"Take care of her, Paul," Illya shouted backwards as he was pulled forward down the hallway.
"I will." Paul sighed, pulling a chair closer to the bed: sat down, folding his body around the side rail, and took her hand in his. "Now, my dear friend, what do you and I know about frontal lobotomies…"
Chapter Seven
It had been three long days for Napoleon Solo since New Year's Eve affair had ended before he could actually enjoy a breath of fresh air outside and smoke a cigarette. Smoking was one of his lesser indulged habits that his Russian partner frowned on and would complain about when he could smell it on his clothes.
He was hoping by the time he got to Illya's apartment, the smell would be barely noticeable. The short walk from his parked car in the damp, cold, night air was refreshing compared to the stuffy gray walls of UNCLE headquarters.
By the time he got up to Illya's third floor flat in his brownstone building, Napoleon was regretting his decision for even taking just one of those pleasurable drags as his lungs heaved for air after the usually simple jog up a stoop and two flights of stairs took its toll. After waiting a few moments for his breathing to even out, Napoleon knocked on the door.
"Come in, Napoleon." Illya shouted through the door. "It's open."
Concerned that something was wrong, Napoleon pulled his gun from his holster and slowly opened the unlocked door a crack and then swinging it all the way with a loud bang. Seeing no one other than Illya sitting quietly on the couch, he searched all the rooms with his gun in front of him before coming back into the living room.
"What are you thinking?" He nearly screamed at the visibly exhausted man, shoving his gun back into his jacket. "You know the procedure."
"Yes, I do," Illya said calmly, not moving from the couch, but removed his held gun from behind his arm sling. "I knew that you were coming. Mark and April left a short while back and I didn't feel like locking everything down just to open it for you. Besides, the way you huffed and puffed up my stairs, I knew that it was you and that you were being stupid yet again."
"No more than you." Napoleon growled back. "You're in no shape to defend yourself when just getting out of Medical today. I had heard that they wouldn't let you stay with Lexi right now. What would Waverly say if I put you on report for this lack of judgment?"
"On report, Napoleon," Illya snorted as he slowly and painfully got up, put his gun down on the coffee table, and tromped angrily into his open galley kitchen. "Is that the best you can do?"
"Hey," Napoleon accused Illya as he sat down on a stool by the breakfast bar. "You're not going to drink while on painkillers, are you?"
"Yes, I feel the need to overdose on drugs and alcohol while I'm feeling sorry for myself." Illya oozed sarcastically, picking up two shot glasses with his free hand and setting them on a counter. "Go reset the door locks."
Wordlessly Napoleon got up and did what he was told. When he returned to the worn, wooden, bar stool, he noticed that Illya had orange juice in one glass and his friend's usual scotch in the other. He watched the blond man shake two pills out of a brown glass bottle, pop then into his mouth, and then wash them down in one big gulp.
"I see that you're staying put tonight, wants some company?" Napoleon offered for he could see the angst in Illya's cloudy, deep, blue eyes. Those who got to know the great Illya Nickovetch Kuryakin could read his mood by the slight change of the blue hue his eyes betrayed.
"What about Caitlin?" Illya asked.
"Not in town. Not that would've mattered" Napoleon confirmed. "I have no date or place to go. I'll sleep on the couch and then we can finally talk about what was not said between you and Waverly. You owe me that, because I got my ass chewed out for letting you see Lexi before your surgery by Dr. Allen. I figure you have about twenty minutes before falling asleep after swallowing those pills and then I'll have to entertain myself after that."
"It's complicated," Illya said while he tugged at his sling to get it into more of a comfortable position.
"Try me," Napoleon glared at him. "I like complicated and I need to know what I can expect from you and Lexi. I have to have something I can use to keep Dr. Samuel at bay for a little longer. He wants to end her career in Section Two."
"It's already lost." Illya sighed in resignation, running his good hand through his messy blond hair. "My best hope right now is to keep her from killing herself or others."
"Go, sit, and spill what you know." Napoleon gestured with his head to the couch. "Have you eaten? Forget it; I already know the answer, stupid of me to even ask."
Napoleon waited for Illya to leave the cramped kitchen and plop down on the couch before he started to search his kitchen for something edible. Finding some eggs in the fridge and bread, he began to make some scrambled eggs with toast.
"Start talking and from the beginning," Napoleon turned to his partner and pointed at him with a frying pan in his hand. "Don't leave anything out, you stubborn Russian."
"Must you always qualify your requests?" Illya devilishly smiled as his body and mind were beginning to be released from their tight knots of pain with the help of medication and being able to freely talk with his brother.
"Yes, now no more stalling," Napoleon said while cracking a couple of eggs.
"What do you know about hypnotics?" Illya asked.
"I know that I don't like them." Napoleon quipped. "But that's not what we're talking about…"
"Yes, it is. It's part of it. What do you know about them?" Illya insisted.
"Again, I know that I don't like them unless someone else is getting them. Tell me what I should know."
"Hypnotics are short-term answers to altering a person's ability to think for themselves and to be controlled by others. To keep a subject under the influence for longer periods of time; they need to be continually administered. Only Lexi's mother had created a stable enough formula that when infused into the brain in such a way it becomes a permanent thought or belief."
"But you said it only happens one time and then it's useless." Napoleon interrupted. "I'm still not following why this is important. I thought that only Lexi knew that formula and she had already given it to you during that mole-finding mission…"
"Yes, but no one else knew about that formula either from the beginning, including Uncle General Boris Kuryakin, Dr. Gregor Vollef, Petrey, or me," Illya continued on as Napoleon set the food in front of his friend.
"Okay, who's Petrey?" Napoleon groaned as he sat down on the only other piece of furniture Illya had in the living room. It was an old straight back rocker that was very uncomfortable.
"Petrey Korran was a good friend of mine from the Navy and was one of many men who fell for Lexi. He was twenty and Lexi and I were sixteen." Illya wondered to himself if it was odd that he thought about his friend twice within a week. "It was before Lexi and I knew that we were meant for each other. It took me longer to see what was right before my eyes."
"So, he was in competition with you for Lexi." Napoleon jumped ahead.
"Not with me, but with Dr. Gregor Vollef." Illya sneered out. "The good doctor was from Poland and one of General Kuryakin's handpicked scientists when he and Lexi's mother tried to train a group of children into assassins for the Soviet Union."
"Yes, Lexi told me that you two were the only ones to survive and that your training didn't stop there. The rest were killed or pushed others to kill them. She said that you two found help within each other and that's before you found out about the genetic coding you both had from your parents."
"Yes, but I now know that I was luckier than she was. My father had taken me away from General Kuryakin's genetic experiment to be with my grandmother and the Nomadic Gypsies for a few years before the war had officially begun. Love, family, and caring for others were impressed on me; Lexi didn't get that.
"Her mother and my father made me promise to take care of her. What could I do, but be there for her as she is for me. For a while, I resented the promise I'd made because, she did everything in her power to be around me all the time when she could; like an irritating sibling. I couldn't understand why until just recently…"
"What?" Napoleon practically was bolting off the edge of his seat. This was only one of a few times he could get Illya to talk about his past; when he was high on painkillers and on a full stomach. Illya didn't finish his sentence, but continued on with the main part of the history lesson to Napoleon's mild disappointment.
"Lexi had been assigned to be under the leadership of Vollef in the KGB while I was in the Navy with Petrey. She had shown interest and aptitude in chemical formulas creations even back then and he was renowned for his study in treating abnormal behaviors and conditioning highly trained soldiers for battle. He was convinced that he could permanently alter a person's state of being with selective frontal lobotomies instead of hypnotics."
"I thought that lobotomies were too dangerous." Napoleon stated out loud, his mind remembering the large, deep, pin-pricks around Lexi's eyes.
"They are, but he was very zealous about his theories and was given complete autonomy. Lexi was there to learn from him, not only about his medical methods, but how to become a better spy. It wasn't long before he wanted her for himself as well as protégé."
"But, what was she as you said, barely sixteen?" Napoleon asked, trying to keep everything straight. "Jail bait for him."
"I thought so too, but, at the time, I was in the Navy and not in a position to help her much. Actually, I was glad, she couldn't be on the sub with me" Illya smiled shyly. "She was short, skinny, just like a boy with long hair, and seemed to me a very silly partner and cousin but, could help me win most the challenges that were assigned to us. That all changed one day I when got off the sub with Petrey."
"Ah, the butterfly emerged from her cocoon." Napoleon surmised by Illya's unshielded and pleasant memory took over his face for an instant and then it turned sad.
"Yes, but to my surprise, she didn't want anything to do with me like before, but went straight for Petrey. I didn't care, at first. For a month, all I heard from Petrey was 'Alexana this and Alexana that'; it was driving me crazy as I began preparing to go away to Moscow to finish my training before I was off to Sorbonne."
"So, old Vollef had competition for his underling's affection's and that didn't sit well with him," Napoleon finished the obvious.
"I had gotten a letter from Petrey voicing his concern for Lexi. He told me about how she wanted him to walk her home from the lab everyday and witnessed a heated discussion that Lexi and Vollef had that suddenly stopped when he opened the door to the lab one day. He knew that she'd called General Kuryakin and was pleading on the phone about something."
"Then?"
"Then, nothing," Illya's half-closed eyes opened as he shifted to lean back against one of the arms of the couch and straightened out his legs on the other one. "No more letters, no one answering my phone calls to Petrey, or concern from Father once I got through to him, until..."
"Until?"
"I got a letter from the General Kuryakin to come to Kiev before I was to leave for Paris and go to the university." Illya rubbed his forehead in frustration. "Petrey had found out that Vollef had kidnapped Lexi after he'd found evidence that something had been done to her physically in the lab when he went to go pick her up one afternoon. Blood was found everywhere."
"Lexi's?"
"No, Vellof's," Illya corrected him. "He'd been stabbed by Lexi in the shoulder and when Petrey confronted him, Vollef knew that the General had been alerted that she was gone. The argument heated up and Vollef shot Petrey, killing him."
"What happened next?"
"The General arrested Vollef and made him tell him where she was before he personally sent him to a Siberian gulag for several years. He was reported dead after leaving the prison a few years back."
"And Lexi, where was she?"
"She was found in one of the Border States in a low-class brothel beaten, starved, chained to a wall, and drugged into submission. The General ordered me to help her get back mentally and physically back into shape, where she was before the incident. He'd put too much time, training, and money into her education not to save her."
"So?" Napoleon encouraged before Illya fell asleep.
"So, for the first year in Paris, I visited, walked, and talked with her in a private state-run health facility to pull her back from drowning in the pain and suffering she had endured. I realized then that I truly cared for her more deeply than anyone else. She focused on her training and used her experience to become who you saw in Kiev, to what we were and are; tools."
"Tools?"
"Tools for the Soviet Union and General Kuryakin," Illya finished with a yawn, curled up on his good side, and snuggled into the cushions.
"Ah, so that's what Waverly wasn't telling me?"
Napoleon nodded to himself as he watched his partner drift off to sleep: happier he was able to tell him what not many knew and that Napoleon would understand. "It's always been you, my dear friend, with the help of others there to save her. Now it's my turn to do this with you. Consider it a favor and help to keep your promise to your real father."
Napoleon got up and grabbed a blanket from Illya's bed and draped it across his sleeping form. Going to the kitchen, he poured another scotch, went to sit down at the small kitchen table and picked up the phone. He had an idea. He didn't know if it would work or not, but wanted to give it a shot anyway.
"Hey, Cassidy, it's Napoleon," he talked softly on the phone. "How's George doing? Good. Listen, I need to get the group together so we can help Illya and Lexi out. I have a plan."
MFU/MFU
The next morning, Illya and Napoleon walked into Medical to find it quiet. Staff was very busy scurrying around them as they walked to the room where Lexi was staying. Dr. Allen had warned them that today would be exhausting for his patient. He'd planned to decrease the amount of sedatives and painkillers that she was on so they could get a better picture of what had happened in the small satrapy before Napoleon had rescued her. She was still weak from the blood loss, but she was improving slowly.
The first sight that Napoleon saw was a ball in the middle of the bed, hidden under a white, fuzzy blanket. A single IV line gracefully curved its way around to the side and then disappeared within the smooth folds.
"That's become her favorite position for the past day and a half," Illya said in a hushed voice.
Napoleon looked again and started to make out a shape of a body wrapped up into a fetal position. Lexi's arms held her folded legs tight to her chin. Her shaved head was tucked down deep into her chest so no part of her body was exposed.
Suddenly, a small tremor began in her body with a low moan starting to build into a rant of half-spoken words and then, the outburst ending with a muffled scream.
Illya started to murmur a steady stream of words into Lexi's ear before he attempted to put his hand on her hunched shoulder. His touch caused her head to jerk more noticeably as she started to pull out of her compact bundle. Very slowly, she pushed her limp legs straight and turned to her back with a haggard look of pain and frustration mixed upon her face.
"Hey, beautiful," Napoleon said with a weak smile. "Sleeping in this morning? It's almost ten o'clock. I brought the one-armed man with me."
Fixing her eyes on where the voice had come from, Lexi turned her blank, stormy, blue eyes to him and then turned to Illya. For a few tense moments, she looked at each of them silently and then licked her dry lips
"Mor…ning, Nap...py," A tired, rasping voice could barely be heard as the jerking of her head made it harder to talk. "I'm…under…weather."
"You've never looked better to me in your life," Napoleon continued to smile brightly.
"Liar!" Lexi said in a furious spat, forcibly closing her eyes, biting her lip, and turning away. Beating her clinched fists into the mattress, she started to tremble while trying to control the sudden flash of anger.
"I'm...sorry. Can't…control…this."
"I understand," Napoleon nodded, picking up her hand to hold it, felt the tremors start to still, and then relax.
Illya picked up the pitcher of water on the night stand, filled a glass with water, and toss a straw in it. Then he picked up the bed's remote control and asked Lexi, "Ready?"
With an upward nod of her head, Illya raised the head of her bed; watching Lexi support her abdominal incision as the back went up.
"Here, drink this," he ordered her. "You'll need it. Doctors Allen and Samuel are going to come in here to pick your brain apart shortly."
"Lexi, I don't know why you put up with such a charming person." Napoleon baited his partner to which Illya said something sarcastically in another language.
Lexi watched the interaction between the two men, but didn't comment. She looked from one and then to the other with a half-open mouth as if trying to say something, but couldn't find the words. Illya scrutinized her with concern while bringing the straw closer, but she waved it away. Not to be deterred, he moved the tip of the straw to within an inch of her lips.
"Nnnn…no!" Lexi shoved at the glass hard enough in his hand for it to spill its contents onto the floor. "I…not…more."
Illya started to lightly argue with her in Russian. Instead of listening to him, she ground the heels of her palms into her forehead, rocked forward in pain, and began to shake with visible in uncontrollable anger. The sideways jerk of her head increased in its severity and frequency.
Illya and Napoleon glanced at each other with concern. Then, Illya lowered the side rail of the hospital bed to get closer to her and leaned forward to bring his arm around her shoulders when Lexi wildly swung out her arms.
"I…I hear. I know words…can't think…understand," Lexi said in an incoherent stream and tore out the IV line attached to the crook of her arm. "I go…I want go…"
With a quickness and determination not expected, Lexi shoved both Illya and Napoleon's hands away, grabbed the other side rail bar to pull her body to the bottom of the bed and off the edge. Her weak legs slid off the side of the bed, but couldn't support her weight as she toppled hard to the linoleum floor.
Napoleon was the first one to reach the prone Section Two agent, picking her up gently up, and set her on the side of the bed between him and Illya. Instantly, Lexi threw her arms around Illya's neck and began to cry hysterically.
Napoleon waved off the medical staff that had started to rush into the room and then he began to stand up to leave Illya and Lexi alone, but the pressure of his partner's good hand on his shoulder stopped him.
"Gregor…revenge," she said in a ragged breath. "He wanted…me to forget…you. Took away my... talk…languages…be in UNCLE. Wanted…you to see…me suffer."
"He wasn't able to do that, was he?" Illya squeezed her even tighter as he talked into her ear. His cheek felt the rough stubble of her hair beginning to grow back.
"No," she grunted out.
"And I now know why." Illya said softly, lifting his gaze to Napoleon. "Your mother gave you an injection of her special formula. Didn't she, Lexi?"
Napoleon watched her nod her head; which it never left Illya's shoulder. Eyeing his partner, Napoleon now knew why their conversation about hypnotics was so important last night.
"I was the first one…to test on." Lexi stuttered. "She made me…promise…take care…of you. Love you…even as…sister…if need be. Not give you…right to choose."
"No wonder you were such a pain in the ass growing up." Illya lovingly scolded her. "All those times you showed up, willing to do anything I told you to do. All that you did to be there for me; suffering through anything just to be near me and letting me go to work for UNCLE. I'd left you alone all those times, fearing the worst. Now, I know I had a guardian angel. It's time for me to help you help me."
"Na…py…there for you now…I…can't..," Lexi sobbed harder. It was the first time Napoleon had ever seen her cry.
"No, I need you," he shook his head, pushed her back far enough to make her look at him, gently wiping a tear from her cheek. "Remember the promise you made me? That when you left Section Two, we would start thinking of a family? Napoleon can't help me with that and Gregor started you off with those abdominal injections, didn't he?"
"I don't have the right plumbing for that and I don't find my partner all that appealing." Napoleon said smugly to Lexi, not realizing that she had minutely nodded to Illya while he placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Although, if his hair gets any longer, he might give Caitlin a run for her money…"
Both Illya and Lexi chuckled softly. Lexi leaned back into Napoleon's side; exhausted and shaking. Signaling for Illya to stand up first, Napoleon took her by the waist with one arm and slipped the other under her legs. He easily picked her up as he stood up, walked to the other side of the hospital bed, and lifted her over the side rail to set her down gracefully on the bed.
Illya stood on the other side of the bed, raised the cool metal side rail with his good arm, and then readjusted his sling before he leaned over to give Lexi's head, a gentle rub. Napoleon pulled the spurned blankets over her and held her hand.
"Don't know…if all this...," Lexi circled a tired finger in the air and then pointed to her head as it jerked. "Permanent. I have to…relearn…"
"Later, rest now," Illya pushed while watching her drift off into a light sleep. "We will have to let 'them' in to check you out and start another IV. We'll come by later with George once you've rested once the evil doctors have had their way with you."
"Tell…Waverly," Lexi murmured as Illya bent down to give her a small kiss on her forehead and then pulled back.
"What about the lab?" Illya asked, looking at his partner with silent confirmation that she was indeed out of Section Two. Napoleon grimaced and shoved his restless hands into his pockets.
"Time…will tell…George help," she squinted and waved them away. "Go… to work."
Chapter Eight
"I don't care where he is, I want Mr. Kuryakin in my office now!"
Everyone at the nurses' station in Medical nervously looked at the two men as Illya and Napoleon had just closed the door to Lexi's hospital room and heard the last comment ring throughout the hallway.
Other than a quick, quizzical look shot at his dark-haired partner, Illya's expression remained unreadable. It had been an exhausting day already and it wasn't even noon yet.
"Okay, what did you do this time?" Napoleon said in a mock frustration to ease the tension as they nodded to the suddenly over-productive on-lookers. "Not one of your gadgets again, is it?"
"I assure you that my "gadgets" as you call them are quite safe until you get your hands on them and play with their circuitry." Illya snipped back, leading the way to Waverly's office. "Besides, what could I've done? I'm a one-handed right now."
"Oh, I've seen you cause a lot of damage and not have use of either of your hands to do it with." Napoleon teased. He knew that Illya would consider that tart remark a compliment.
"Thank you, I do try," Illya said with a smirked as they reached Heather McNabb's desk just outside of Waverly's office.
"Ah, there you are, Mr. Kuryakin." Heather rolled her exasperated, grey eyes toward her boss's door. "I see that you got the message that he wanted to see you, but not you, Mr. Solo. Illya is to go in there alone."
"Wow, well, Illya, it was nice working with you…" Napoleon whistled softly and hitched a hip onto Heather's desk. "Don't forget your bullet-proof vest."
"Napoleon," Illya said coldly with a penetrating glare that made Heather's spine shiver. "You are not helping."
"Get in here, Mr. Kuryakin, now. Mr. Solo, I expect that report in fifteen minutes. This won't take very long and leave my secretary alone. She's got enough to do other than give you fodder to start rumors."
"Yes, sir," all three people said staring at the intercom, jumped up and went their separate ways.
MFU/MFU
"Sit down, Mr. Kuryakin," Waverly curtly said as Illya hesitantly strode into the section head's office.
"I came as soon as I heard you were requesting my presence," Illya calmly stated.
The pain pills were wearing off, he was worried about Lexi, and now Waverly was upset. He felt like this was just the beginning of a countdown to a very bad year.
"I just had a very interesting call from the Soviet Ambassador still on his visit to New York about you." Waverly said through clinched teeth while packing his pipe with tobacco. "A very interesting conversation with him indeed!"
"Sir," Illya asked, his mind spinning as to what he was referring to.
He had barely talked to the General Comrade at the New York mayor's dinner and in the stands before he got the gun away from Hamilton. He wouldn't have gotten shot if it hadn't been for Mrs. Van Meer trying to come to his aid. She'd put herself in the line of fire and luckily, he was able to twist Hamilton's arm just enough to prevent her from getting her head blown off.
"Yes," Waverly's voice became contrite. "He was so impressed by the way you handled the operation and taking a bullet for an egotistical American woman that he wants to get you promoted within the Soviet Union's Political machine. He wants you to represent the USSR in the growing relations with China and Indonesia."
"Mr. Waverly, I had no prior knowledge of this." Illya said in sheer astonishment; knowing that he would be doing more than being an ambassador of goodwill for his country. "I like you, have watched and observed the ever increasing tensions in Vietnam, but have no wish to leave UNCLE."
"Nor would I let you go without a fight," The older man said sternly. "All I can say is that even with personal issues, you did your job well, too well. The Ambassador knows many powerful decision makers in the Kremlin, including the prime minister."
"Yes, I know," Illya nodded his head. "My status here at UNCLE is contingent on many factors and I've held on to my Soviet citizenship for sentimental reasons that may not be there anymore. I don't want to be arrested as a traitor if I defected either.
"And you know that UNCLE cannot help you," Waverly gave his astonished agent a fatherly gaze through the rising pipe smoke. "Our agreement was that you'd stay in Section Two or go back to the Soviet Union as a high ranking officer. As you say, defection is treason and death if you should go back. I was hoping that you didn't have to decide on this issue for a few more years…"
"What if they order me back to the Motherland?" Illya asked as he stared intently down at the wooden tabletop. Thoughts and concerns whirled within his mind: he same ones ever since he started working for UNCLE.
"I will offer them a compromise." Waverly sighed in frustration. "You were given to UNCLE to be used in Section Two as long as you were able to and there you'll stay, even if that means in the capacity of being a liaison to the USSR. There's much evidence that outside forces are getting involved to interfere with this conflict. I want you to keep close tabs on who are all of the players and what activities they're up to."
"I understand."
"I can only hope that the prime minister upholds our original agreement, keeps you right where you belong, and does not involve you in that quagmire."
"That would be my wish as well." Illya cleared his voice to prevent his superior from hearing it start to shake.
All of his plans with Napoleon and Lexi were unraveling faster than he could repair them. He already knew the tension and strain of his nationality was affecting his authority with newer members of UNCLE until they got to know the stoic, reserved man.
"At this point, while you are on extended medical leave." Waverly puffed, leaning back in his chair and breaking Illya's train of thought. "I want you to keep updated with all the information you can from both sides of this issue, just in case we're needed at a moment's notice."
Illya looked up from the table and stared at the man who would throw him into another battle to help save the world without batting an eye, suddenly looking his age and frail.
"I won't lie to you and say it's going to be easy." Waverly said forebodingly. "Now, more than ever, I dare say. Many of our supporting countries are pulling back and focusing on their own issues and not the world-wide picture."
"And THRUSH, sir?" Illya asked.
"Will try to use this time to their advantage I dare say." Waverly puffed harder on his pipe. "Miss Lane's recent actions set into motion a last ditch effort for THRUSH to survive such a crucial blow as the unexpected Stellan's death was, by forming tighter ranks to try and destroy UNCLE. Only time will tell who'll deliver the next significant blow."
"And, Miss Lane's status?" Illya went to the next thought. "Do they know that she's no longer in the game?"
"I've already started the wheels in motion." Waverly exhaled a cloud of pungent smoke. "I have it on good authority that mutual parties reported that THRUSH did know of Stellan's death and who caused it. That she was taken back to UNCLE headquarters suffering from a nasty gunshot wound and listed on the permanently disabled list with a little help from our informants that are paid to leak misinformation to Central. And that we are sending her to our long-term care facility, Rosewood, at the end of this week."
"I'll tell her." Illya nodded sadly. "Is that all?"
"No," Waverly shook his head. "You're to meet with the Ambassador this afternoon at the Soviet Consulate and explain to him my position on your current job status. I'm sure that you will find the right persuasive line to take with him. He wants to hear from you personally about your desires to stay at UNCLE. See to it. Meeting is set for three o'clock."
"Yes, sir," Illya said as lightly as he could while trying to hide his building anger and frustration. He stood up to go. "I will endeavor to convince the Ambassador of my feelings..."
"Illya," Waverly said after he snapped a switch on his panel and put his pipe down. "Watch yourself. The CIA and FBI have been on high alert with the Soviet Union and will notice your visit today I fear."
"Thank you," Illya said in puzzlement as to why he shut off the tape recorder. "I had a feeling to expect that I would be a person of interest to them once again."
"Don't take what I've told you too lightly." The older man frowned. "I have watched you grow from a mere boy to the strong dependable person you are today. It's time for you to think of your own wellbeing and not the good of the Command."
"I don't know if I can do that," Illya truthfully said in a rush. "I have never really thought in terms of wanting things for just myself or a small family."
"You have someone who needs you. Don't let her push you away or it will end badly." Waverly said softly. "Like you, she can only see a window out, but not the mirror that reflects nothing back. You deserve the same life as those you've saved."
"Why tell me this now?" Illya eyed the man suspiciously, who for years told him how expendable he and Napoleon were and needed to their jobs.
"Because, I want you to think of your options when the time comes, not just be expected to do just as you're told and not dictated by your breeding and training. I'll say no more and deny that we've had this conversation."
With that last comment, Waverly clicked the switch back on and took a big draw on his pipe as he looked at the stunned agent.
"Now go," the Section One leader growled extra loudly. "You have your orders. Be off with you and send Mr. Solo back here. I need to end this New Year's Eve affair once and for all. I've lost a good agent in Section Two and must find a replacement as soon as possible."
"Yes, sir," Illya said and turned to leave Waverly's office through the automatic door; leaving the area to seek solitude and time to think in his own small office just outside his lab.
MFU/MFU
(Months later)
"Lexi, they're back," George Thompson said in a rush as he opened the door the physical therapy gym with a medical bag in his hand. "Napoleon's already in surgery and Illya's been drugged to the eyeballs and isn't letting anyone touch him. It's time to get you back into your hot rod and get to work, sweetheart."
Out of breath and halfway across the parallel support bars for walking, Lexi dropped to her knees, smoothly swung under one of the bars near her wheelchair, and pulled herself to stand up long enough to drop into the seat. George helped her with putting one of feet on the foot pedal as she lifted her other more slowly and set it on the other one. He then tossed the medical bag onto her lap, grabbed the handles, and steered her out of the door.
MFU/MFU
George and Lexi made it to the secured medical treatment room to find Illya screaming Napoleon's name and wildly pacing the walls of the room trying to find a way out. His eyes were bloodshot with dark circles from lack of sleep. A sweat and blood smeared shirt stuck to his back and his body showed signs of a savage beating hidden just under the transparent material. Nasty red marks ringed around his bare wrists and ankles.
They watched him roam the locked room like a caged animal for a while to see his reactions and symptoms carefully.
"What do you know, Mark?" George asked.
"April and I found both of them in a warehouse. Both of them were beaten and tied up. Napoleon was unconscious and had a broken leg bone, that's why he's in surgery." Mark filled them in as they continued to observe the irate agent through the glass. "The moment a Section Three agent released Illya's bonds, he came out swinging. We had to dart him twice before he dropped. He woke up here just a few minutes ago."
"Blood draw," Lexi asked, scrutinizing Illya's pinpoint eyes that were staring right at her through the two-way mirror.
"Done on the copter ride here, luv," Mark said with a bright smile while looking down at her.
"What do you think?" George contemplated seriously with his arms crossed around his chest and one of his hands over his mouth. "Alkaline or acid base?"
"Alk…aline," Lexi said with a grimace, deep in thought with a small jerk of her head. She rubbed her short hair with the palm of her hand. It was wet with sweat that made her cold, but it was his vacant, lost look that made her shiver. "Can…try person…recognition?"
"Mark?" George turned to Mark for permission.
"I don't know, mates," Mark shook his head with concern. "The last person who was within striking distance got a black eye and chipped tooth."
Lexi rolled her eyes up at Mark and watched George turn his back to Mark smirking. "Won't hurt…me."
"Then, I'll be watching with a dart gun in hand." Mark waved for the Section Three agent to let Lexi into the room.
George wheeled her into room. While staring intently at who came into the room with conflicting, midnight blues eyes, Illya had stopped his pacing and stood ram-rod straight.
"Oh, hey, Illya," George said nonchalantly, let go of the wheelchair grips, and gave Lexi's shoulder a squeeze before he left the room. "Try to play nice."
Confused and disoriented, Illya stared at the person sitting in the modified wheelchair that he helped designed. Her short, raven colored hair was spiky with drying sweat; her magnetic. Deep blue eyes calmly looked at him over the rims of her crazy granny glasses with her soft, full lips set in a line of determination. She was wearing bright pink sweats.
"Pink!" Illya said with a jolt as he garbled a response in their shared language. "That's a horrible color on you and you know it, Lexi."
"George…took my…grey sweats…left me…these…bastard!" Lexi stuttered in exasperation. "You know me?"
"I have to find Napoleon," Illya repeated, taking a step forward and not giving into her right away. He didn't know if he could believe that she was real or not with all the dreams and thoughts that were racing around his head.
"Can't…surgery…broken leg. Remember things?" Lexi persisted as she continued to lock eyes with him.
"I can't tell what's real or not until I see him…" he held his aching head in his hands and began to tremble.
Lexi slowly nodded and put her hand on each of the armrests of the wheelchair and slowly started to push herself up to stand in front of Illya and stopped. He was still watching her every move from the corner of his eye, ready to strike.
Swaying, Lexi leaned forward just enough to lose her balance and suddenly started to fall while trying to take a step. Instantaneously, without thinking, Illya jumped to her side to catch her by the waist and support her. Holding her gently, he buried his head into her shoulder and inhaled her familiar scent. A sharp bite on his deltoid caught him by surprise as he felt the warm rush of a drug race up to his shoulder and into his pounding heart.
"George told you to play nice." Illya said softly in her ear as some of the fog swirling in his mind began to lift slightly.
"No," she whispered back, pulling the syringe out and throwing it on the floor before wrapping her arms around his neck while trying to be mindful of his injuries. Gracefully pulling out another syringe from her waistband, she continued on. "He told you…not me."
"Napoleon's in worse shape…" Illya began again; falling back into the tide of confusion that kept hitting him.
This mantra of "getting out and back home no matter what" was drilled into all Section Two agents to get them to push forward. For Illya, getting his partner out as well was second on this list despite what Waverly and UNCLE tried to impress upon him.
"Yes," Lexi agreed with the trembling agent. Looking at her watch and giving a nod to the two-way mirror, she expertly popped the cap off the second hypo in her hand and plunged it into his other upper arm.
" Ah…" Illya moaned in pain as this antidote was like ice water running through his finger tips first and then back up his arm. "How many more of those do you have to give me?"
"One…more," Lexi pulled back enough from the exhausted man to indicate that he should let her go and help her back into the wheelchair.
Illya lowered her down gently as the antidotes started to take their full effects. The pain from his injuries and a tickle of nausea brought him to kneel heavily on the ground next to Lexi's wheelchair.
Leaning his upper body across the arm rests; Illya took an agonizing breath in and forcibly let it out. Lexi absently stroked his hair for a moment and then leaned over to place her chin on his head.
"It's…long…four months…since," Lexi's rough voice stuttered out. He winced at the sound; remembering what it sounded like before. He only nodded to her as he listened. "I…see how hard…you care…UNCLE…Nappy…me. Not good…year…you..so far. Better…promise."
The last hypo she gave Illya was a sedative. Without time to react, Lexi pulled the cap off, jabbed the needle into his bent thigh, and drained the medicine. Wasted from the drop in his body's adrenaline levels, the only reaction he gave her was a small grimace that fleetingly crossed his lips.
While they waited for the sedative to take effect, Lexi picked up one of Illya's hands and held it in hers, playing with his fingers. She then gently guided his hand to press it up against her lower abdomen.
With an expression of surprise mixed with fear and happiness, Illya looked up at her as she gave him the smallest nod while the rest of her face remained passive.
Illya licked his dry lips, said a few hushed words to her in their language which he was teaching her to speak again, and then pushed himself away from her wheelchair to lay his tired body on the floor. The trauma from his mission and the sedative were finally overtaking him. Now he was ready to get some much needed rest. It was going to be a long year now that after several months of arguing with the Soviet Ambassador, he had finally agreed to let Illya stay undisturbed in UNCLE.