Illya sat in Demetrius' small kitchen, nursing a cup of coffee. Pia was with Napoleon, he could hear the rise and fall of her voice as she worked with him.
The American was lying on the bed in his own little room. Demetrius had placed one of the kitchen chairs beside it for Pia. They had been together like this for hours. Sometimes there was a break and Demetrius would take in coffee or food. Illya had remained in the kitchen, uncertain of his reception by either party.
Demetrius returned from collecting the cups and plates accumulating in Napoleon's room and deposited them in the sink. Then he sat himself down opposite Illya and spent some minutes studying the Russian before saying ''It seems they are making progress, Pia says that we may be hopeful for your friend.''
''I'm not sure he's going to forgive me for what I did'' said Illya, absorbed in his own thoughts.
''You did what was necessary my friend, you could not allow his vanity to stand in the way of his cure'' said Demetrius kindly.
''It's not vanity'' said Illya studying the bottom of his coffee cup as if the secrets of the world resided there ''it's pride. He didn't want a young girl seeing him vulnerable and broken. But she had to see it, she had to understand. I had no other way, if I had left him with anything to lose he wouldn't be in there now,'' he finished, looking up as if seeking absolution.
Demetrius knew better than to offer it. ''Pride and vanity'' he asked ''are they so very different?''
''They are with him'' said Illya. ''He is proud because he has a right to be, and I took that from him. In the eyes of that girl, I took that from him.''
''Pia is neither so easily impressed nor so easily fooled, my friend'' said Demetrius ''but she is saddened and she is angry.''
''Angry?'' questioned Illya.
''She is horrified by the use of her art for such evil ends. Her people have been with the travelling fairs for generations, using their skills to entertain but there is also a power to heal. She is angry at those who have perverted the power to heal in order to do harm.''
''There will be an accounting for that I assure you'' said Illya darkly.
''You move in a world which knows so much of violence'' replied Demetrius with sorrow ''but, knowing what it is that you fight, I find myself unable to condemn it. Pia may be ignorant of the name of this evil, but she has seen what it has done to your friend and she is filled with compassion.''
Illya gave a wry smile ''Napoleon is not above playing on the sympathies of a pretty girl'' he admitted ''but pity? Napoleon would rather I had left him to THRUSH.''
''Compassion is not pity my young friend'' said Demetrius ''and Pia would not be able to work with your friend as she does now, if he did not already understand this.''
Illya looked doubtful ''I will wait to hear it from Napoleon'' he said.
''Wait to hear what from Napoleon?'' enquired Napoleon, standing in the kitchen doorway.
He was being shored up on one side by the door frame and on the other by Pia. Illya was on his feet instantaneously to support him. He slipped his arm under the American's, shouldering some of his weight, and helped him across the short distance to the kitchen table.
Napoleon eased himself carefully into one of the chairs. It had clearly been an effort to travel the few yards from his small bedroom, and it had drained him of some of his colour, but he was also looking very pleased with himself.
Pia seemed as pleased as he was. ''You did it'' she beamed in triumph, sitting down beside him and taking his hand in her own.
''And for my next trick'' said Napoleon playfully, waving Illya's gun in the air with his free hand.
Illya's hand went instantly to his now empty holster. ''Give me that'' he ordered, lunging forward in an attempt to grab back the gun. Napoleon snatched it away and dangled it above his own dark head. ''Napoleon, what are you playing at?'' protested Illya, trying again. But Napoleon's sleight of hand had the gun away from him in an instant. Illya retreated to regroup, radiating a curious mix of hostility and puzzlement.
Then he caught Pia's warm dark eyes laughing at him in silent merriment. He looked from her to Napoleon, who seemed to be enjoying the same joke. Comprehension dawning, he walked up to Napoleon with a wry deliberation and grabbed his wrist, shaking the gun from the American's unprotesting grasp. ''You could have just said that it worked'' he muttered, re-holstering the weapon.
''Where would be the fun in that?'' asked Napoleon, looking to Pia and raising the hand he still held to his lips ''thank you'' he said graciously.
She gifted him with a shy smile and replied ''I was glad to be able to help.''
''It would seem that the time has come for Pia to return to her people'' observed Demetrius.
Pia hadn't taken her eyes from Napoleon's. ''Goodbye Mr Solo'' she said sincerely, leaning forward to place the chastest of kisses on his cheek. Illya was uncertain that his partner hadn't blushed. ''I will not forget you.''
Then she stood and allowed Demetrius to guide her out of the kitchen and towards the entrance of his unassuming home. The erstwhile priest following her out into the fading warmth of the early evening sun in order to escort her back to wherever he had been able to conjure her from.
''I suppose that goes for us too'' said Illya staring after them ''it's about time for us to return to our people.''
''I was beginning to think you wanted to settle down with the goats'' said Napoleon mischievously ''I think they like you.''
''I would be more than happy if I never saw another goat'' responded Illya tersely.
''Are you sure?'' teased Napoleon ''Because you do seem to have developed quite an affinity...''
''Upon reflection'' retorted Illya ''it's a long flight to New York; I'm not sure a goat wouldn't be better company.''
''I am pained by your lack of appreciation for the finer points of my conversational accomplishments'' replied Napoleon loftily.
Illya chose to ignore this, focussing on more pragmatic concerns ''I will make contact and arrange for our flights'' he said.
''How will you explain our absence?'' queried Napoleon.
''I don't need to explain it'' said Illya ''I have already received authorisation for it.''
''You told them I was...I was...unfit?'' Napoleon faltered, immediately wary.
''I told them you were too injured to move and in good hands'' said Illya patiently ''I saw no reason to burden anyone with a truth beyond that.''
Subdued, Napoleon reached an idle hand across the table to take the handle of Illya's discarded coffee cup. He twisted it back and forth against its saucer, seemingly totally absorbed, following the motion of his partner's cup for uncounted minutes, while Illya stood in silence watching him. Then without looking up he said, ''I was in good hands, the best hands.''
Illya gave no response at first, dropping his head to look at his shoes, then he mumbled ''I'm your partner, what else was I supposed to do?''
''You didn't have to bring me here'' said Napoleon ''you could have taken me back.''
''Would you have wanted that?'' asked Illya, suddenly uncertain.
''No'' said Napoleon, still playing with the cup ''but you could have taken me back.''
Illya looked up, considering his position for a moment before replying ''I just did what was necessary.''
''Thank you'' said Napoleon unexpectedly.
Illya shifted a little uncomfortably and then said almost impishly ''It was either that or explain to Mr Waverly that I was trading you in for a donkey.''
Napoleon cocked his head to one side and enquired quizzically ''For a what?''
''Rosa'' said Illya ''she made a very useful job of providing back up and if I ever have cause to doubt the unique and inexplicable value of our partnership, I may yet be tempted.''
Napoleon broke into a broad grin, looking every inch the man Illya had come to know, ''Well there'll be plenty of time for you to explain that little episode'' he said ''like you say, it's a long flight back to New York and I can't move without help. For once you will have my full and undivided attention.''
And for once, Illya found himself entirely without an answer.
END