A Man from U.N.C.L.E. Story
by Darklady
Chapter Three - Doctor, Doctor, Give Me the News.
Rated: G
*****
It is not discipline that keeps me silent. More a matter of incredulity. To a story like that, what is there to say?
I watch as April Dancer turns off the U.N.C.L.E. machine, and then her own, and drops the pair of them back into her infinite purse. Another fumble brings out keys, a lipstick, and finally a small black case. Perhaps a compact, although it seems a bit large. Also rather plain for feminine tastes.
She shakes the lid open, and then presses three buttons. They beep musically. Some sort of code, but not one I recognize. "Mishca" She speaks into the lid. "Tell the mob they can come back in now."
"New communicators?" As questions go, that one would seem safe enough . And I am curious.
"What?" She looks almost surprised at the item in her hand. "It's a cell phone."
A special phone for calling cells? And if she did wish to communicate with her coverts, why be so open about it?
"A telephone. Illya. They are portable now." She glances at the table, where a real telephone disputes her words. "Most of them, at any rate."
She hands it too me. Interesting. It does appear to be a communications device of some sort. Solid-state electronics ; very compact. No apparent dial, merely a grid of numbered buttons below a plastic plate. Same sequence as a telephone. The speaker was in the upper portion. That much I can identify. Antennae in the top. Battery slot in the back. Other then that? This will take time to fully analyze.
"Keep it." April says. "My number is already in there. *4 for home. *2 for office. Call any time."
This Mishca must be a very local contact. After a polite tap the door opens, and both Mr. Quinn and the Major reenter. With or without the phone call to Moscow, they have clearly gone for reinforcements. Doctor Bastajian, who I recognize, and with him a shorter man in a traditional white medical jacket but without the stethoscope. The last through the door is an older man in a regular Army uniform. General's insignia, but a caduceus on the collar. Medical branch. The base commander, I decide. Standing would be difficult wrapped like I am, so I merely nod. He does not appear to take offense, simply gestures for the others to take their seats.
The April woman stands, and they shake hands before she speaks. "OK, people. Let's try to make this as quick and painless as possible."
A fine idea. Why do I think it unlikely?
"This is Doctor Bastajian. You've seen him before, I assume." April says to me. "And your psychiatrist, Dr. Goldak." She waves towards the man in white, who nods in acknowledgement.
"Psychiatrist?" I ask.
"Just a formality." The Major interjects. "Army regulations require that therapeutic support be offered after all hospital stays longer than two weeks. But I believe we can dispense with him now."
"Hardly," the white jacketed man bristles. "Mr. Kuryakin has just had a very stressful experience. And this is no longer the dark ages! Your dismissive attitude does not help." His voice rises, then drops again as he turns to me.
"Mr. Kuryakin. I know that you are very confused right now. That's to be expected. So I won't bother you today."
Good. I would prefer if a psy-operations agent was to bother me *never*.
"I just want you to know I'm here for you. We can talk tomorrow, if that's agreeable?" Hardly. But that is seldom a wise response, so I again say nothing. He seems to accept it. "I won't press. Just let the nurse know if you want me."
April smiles at us both, trying again for charm. "General Safaryan, Commander of this facility."
"Sir."
"An honor, Mr. Kuryakin."
"And Major Hovsepian. Whom you have already met. She will be your briefing officer."
That statement brought an improbable cough from the far wall.
"Along with Mr. Quinn, of course."
"Briefing officer?" Another question. I must watch that this does not become a habit.
"Yes sir." Mr. Quinn jumps into the opening. " We are here to bring you up to date. Answer any questions you may have, and..."
I cut him off. "Just one."
"Sure." He gives me what Solo would call a shit-eating grin. "Whatever."
"When do I get out of here?"
"Out?" The grin wavers. " Well..perhaps..
"Please!" The Major cuts in. "You are *not* a prisoner, Mr. Kuryakin. You could leave now if you wished."
"I wish."
That kills her smile as well. "Dr. Bastajian ?"
"I would not advise it." He steps forward, addressing me as he would a class of interns. " You have had a severe systemic shock. You have spent six months in induced barbiturate coma, with all the loss of nerve function that implies. You are at least fifteen pounds underweight, anemic, and still showing mild signs of hypothermia. I would advise you to remain for at least a week or until your blood work returns to normal and you can walk unassisted." Which apparently finished the lecture. He sits back down. " That is, however, just advice."
"Dr. Goldak?" The Major seeks another ally.
"Mr. Kuryakin is an adult, and quite competent. I could not say otherwise. Although I agree that more support work is advisable. Perhaps in a community setting. "
"Well... " She looks up at the General, who says nothing, "If there is any particular place you wish to go, I suppose we could arrange..."
I ignore her. "You are saying I could just walk out of here?"
Dr. Goldak snorts at that. "Not likely. I doubt you have the strength to walk down the hall. I'm am merely saying you are free to try."
Which answers nothing. I turn to the base commander. "General?"
"I have no orders to the contrary. But it would be insane..."
"We can provide....." That is Quinn, cutting in again.
"Enough!" April raises one hand and the room falls silent. She scans them all, then turns to me.
"Mr. Kuryakin, you have a choice. Stay here with Mr. Solo, or come with me to my hotel. And I *do* have the authority to make that an order."
Leave my partner? Nyet! "Here." I answer.
"That settles it."
Another tap in the door, and this time it is a young woman in a privates uniform pushing a cart.
"Good." April waves her over. "Hot tea. That should put everyone in a better mood."
April Danger waits as the young woman serves the General, then the others. Mine she puts in a plastic cup with a partial lid.
"Would you care for a straw, Mr. Kuryakin?" the young private asks.
"No. I can drink."
"Raspberry jelly?" Major Hovsepian offers, holding out the pot and spoon. I must have shown surprise, because her laugh was back. "It's in your file, Mr. Kuryakin. I have had a great deal of time in the last months to spend on my reading. Appearances aside, we do want to make you stay comfortable as possible."
Perhaps. She has read the file at least. The comfort I do not expect. Although.... I decide to make no judgments - for now. April helps me steady the glass while I stir a bit of jam into my tea, and sip. "Excellent."
That appears to reassure the Major somehow. She stands, straightens her papers, and begins in her formal voice. "Let us start at the beginning. What we know about operation ........"
*BUZZZ*
Another interruption from the doctor's pocket. This time I get a better look. His communicator is much like the one April handed me. Perhaps somewhat larger. It is also louder. I can overhear the nurse on the other end.
"Dr. Bastajian? You asked to be informed when Mr. Solo showed signs of waking?"
"On my way."
"If you will excuse me?" He nods to the General, then to the room.
April Dancer pauses a moment, then stands. "Perhaps we should all go now, and finish this in the morning. General Safaryan?"
"If it can wait thirty-three years, it can surely wait one day more."
I say nothing, but I give her the *look*. She understands.
"Escort Mr. Kuryakin to Mr. Solo's room. I'm sure Mr. Solo will find that far more reassuring then a roomful of scrub-clad bruisers."
True, I think. And with good reason. I reach for the arms to push myself up.
"Mr. Kuryakin?" She smiles. and I would almost swear I see my friend again. " Use the chair. That *is* an order."
************
"Illya....watch out....... the beam......"
Perhaps Napoleon Solo is awake but he is not conscious.
"I'm here, Napoleon, I'm here."
No response. Without a watch I can not be precise, but I think at least one hour has passed since the orderly found me a space beside my partner's bed. Allowing for another fifteen minutes of sitting in the hall while green-clad personnel rolled out cart after cart of machines and supplies, and five more for delay and travel time from the meeting to here.... I do not like that answer. Napoleon should be free of the drugs by now.
Base...explosions.....no door....Illya...
"I'm here, Napoleon, I'm here."
A bit repetitive, but what else is there to say. Here I am. Here I will remain.
"Out... must get..... in there.....where..."
I lean back, trying to relive the tension in my shoulders. They are beginning to cramp from the strain of my twisted position. This wheelchair is too low - or his bed is too high. No matter. I have felt worse, and have no intention of releasing my partners hand until my Napasha is back and fully aware. Which should, according to the nurses earlier words, have been at least half an hour ago. Perhaps Dr. Bastajian had misjudged his dosages. If so, I will have to... discuss..the matter with him later.
At least Napasha's voice is stronger now. For the first half hour I could barely make out the words when Napoleon moaned. Now they were almost at normal volume. A good sign of lung function, or so the nurses insist. Both doctors have been pleased. The harsh coughing is past, and now Napoleon speaks with nearly his old tones. He has been given water, and swallowed without assistance. All very positive.
"Illya...Illya?...Illya!"
"Hush, Napoleon. I am here"
At last - finally - the limp hand closes on mine.
"Illya?" The voice drops back to a whisper.
"I am here. We made it out. You are in the hospital." A long moment while I watch the breathing catch, then return. Dark lashes flutter, then fall closed.
"How bad?"
A good question. But now that Napoleon was back...? "Nothing serious, they tell me." True enough. That is what they have *told* me. "Hold still, the nurse wants to remove the IV."
The nurse hesitates. Even though this nurse is a large man, I do not blame him. Hurting a man as thoroughly trained as Napoleon Solo is never a good idea. No one has mentioned any details, but I suspect that some of the caution the staff showed in my presence may have come from their earlier efforts at treating *him*. It also, I suspect, explains the disappearance of the attentive young ladies who had previously flitted around. They were most considerate, and doubtless quite knowledgeable, but they were not anyone's choice when it came to dealing with an injured warrior like Solo.
"It is all right." I assure the nurse. "He is good with pain, as long as he knows it is coming."
One smooth pull on the silver needle. Napoleon shies away, but does not strike. Good. "Illya..?"
"I'm here." I reach out and wash his lids with a warm cloth. "Can you open your eyes?"
His lashes flutter again. I reach out my free hand to shield him from the light until his pupils have a chance to adapt. He blinks rapidly, trying to focus. I watch as his eyes dart, taking in the room, his own injuries, and the hulk in green poised at the foot of the bed. Finally his eyes come to rest on my own.
"Illya?" Napoleon asks. "If this is a hospital, what did you do with the beautiful nurses?"
END CHAPTER THREE