A Man from U.N.C.L.E. Story
by Darklady
Chapter Seven - Sweet Talking Guy
Rated: PG
**************
I wake to a bright light. Blinding. Hurting. Someone near. Turn, reach, and.....
"Good morning!".A cheerful voice chimes from the foot of my bed. "Let me get that shade." Napoleon's nurse walks over to the window. "Is that better. Sorry. We are on the south-east side, and the morning sun can be vicious in summer. I didn't mean to wake you."
"When?" I ask. It does not feel like I have slept at all. I notice Napoleon is also looking weary, and he is normally an early riser.
"Time? Five-thirty. Far too early, I agree. Just go back to sleep, and ring when you are ready for breakfast."
I roll over and grab the pillow when my stomach grumbles. Loudly. Enough so the nurse can hear.
"Sir." She looks distressed. "Why don't I get you some juice? Just to start." She looks at me, then at Napoleon.
He sits up. The mention of food has captured his interest.
"Orange?" she offers. " Or would you prefer pineapple? Or tomato?"
Napasha smiles. "You sound very....generous."
"Oh, Mr. Solo." She blushes. A dangerous habit for blondes. It is hard to conceal. "Behave!" She tries for exasperated. She succeeds at thrilled. " You have both lost weight, and I am under doctor's orders to see that you eat well."
Napasha catches the blush and moves in for the kill. "If you could help me out of bed?"
"Certainly." She eases one shoulder under his arm, only to gasp when she discovers where his hands wind up. "Watch the hands!" She blushes again, deeper this time. " We have all been warned about you."
Only fair. I wondered when *that* talent would find its way into his surveillance file.
"Behave, or I will call an orderly. Can you stand?" She turns to me. "I will help him first, Mr. Kuryakin. Unless you would prefer to return to your own room?"
"No." If Napasha is here, then this is my room.
"Then just rest a moment."
"I'll wait for you here." I agree, enjoying the show. We could both walk. Napasha is just enjoying his game. And he is *so* good at it. I hit the button to raise up the back of the bed so I can watch the show in comfort. Napoleon is milking the situation for all it is worth, leaning against her breasts and pretending to 'stumble' so his hands can 'slip'.
His game serves its purpose. She waits outside the bathroom, giving him a few moments alone. Not likely of much use now, but the knowledge that we *will* be left alone is itself of value. Even so, she is waiting the moment the door reopens.
"I will help you back into bed." He grins at that before she adds, "alone." Her voice swings between amusement and exasperation. "Really, Mr. Solo. Keep this up and I will report you for harassment." There is no heat in her tone. I smile to myself. I know just she feels.
"Mr. Kuryakin?"
"I can walk unassisted."
"Very well." I think she would like to argue, but she does not. " Just take my arm for balance. I'd hate to see you fall - you could end up in the hospital."
"Very funny." I allow her to help me out of bed, but not afterwards."I will call if I require aid." Apparently Ragsac has sent the word around, because she does not press the point.
I am still moving rather slowly, so by the time I am finished the nurse has been wherever and has returned with a basket of small boxes and cans. "I'll just leave this here, and you can help yourself." She points to a large card. "And here's the breakfast menu." She swats down Napasha's hand one more time and is gone.
"Illya." He is holding one box marked 'Minute Maid'. "Check the dates on these cans." He hands me another marked 'V8'. The top closure is a silver film marked 'sell/by 10/10/02 . Someone is going to quite a lot of work to be convincing.
"Even if the date is correct." I pause, considering all I have seen. " Even if we are somehow in the future." Which I do *not* believe, but I will use it as a hypothesis. "That is no reason to assume we are *not* prisoners of T.H.R.U.S.H."
"Or someone else" Napoleon adds.
I look over the cans carefully. Then check the one marked 'guava'. The dates match. "Do you think they are poisoned?" I ask.
"Probably not." He smiles. " Why bother?"
I consider the question. He is right. "Well, then.... I'll have the pineapple." It is excellent, and I am now aware of just how hungry I am. After I finish the peach nectar, I turn to Napoleon. "Did she say breakfast menu?"
"Yes. I think so." He picks up the white card.
I hold out my hand. "Let me see that." I scan the choices. Eggs, porridge, ham, sausage, German pancakes, Belgian waffles.. Belgian waffles? With bananas and raspberries?
"Napoleon?"
He turns. "I have reconsidered. This is not a T.H.R.U.S.H. plot. And this is not the future. We are dead. I am in heaven."
*****
"Brinng* I try the call button. The tapping of heels follows immediately.
"Mr. Kuryakin. Mr. Solo. Ready for breakfast?"
"Yes." Napasha hands over the menu we have marked. "Would you know where my suit is?"
"Clothes?" She gives it a thought. "Not that I have seen, but I'm sure I can find something."
Napoleon offers her a smile for motivation. "Preferably something without the drafty back." He leans forward, flashing shoulder. "Even in summer, this place is not that warm."
She smiles back. "I'll see what I can do."
Damn, he is good.
******
This time we get to sit at a table with regular chairs. Two men in green set this up for us before removing the wheelchairs of last night. Another orderly brings our breakfast. He also waits while we eat, and clears it away afterwards. We do not see the nurse again until she reappears with what looks like a bundle of rags.
"No luck finding your stuff." She smiles at Napoleon. "So I borrowed some t-shirts and sweats from the intern's lounge." She shakes the items out for our inspection. Gym clothes. And not Pasha's designer versions. "Not much for looks, but at least they should be warmer." She looks at Napoleon, uncertain. "If you need some help, I should call the orderlies, but..."
"I will aid him if required." I answer.
"Oh....well" She hesitates. "Thanks. Ring if you need me. Or nursing is 2-16." She pauses again, but despite her eyelashes Napoleon gives her no further opening, so at last she leaves.
"Nike?" he asks, holding up a white work-out shirt lettered in flowing green. "Isn't that some Greek goddess?"
I catch a glimpse of the back, and I laugh. It is lettered there as well.
He turns the shirt around, and snorts. "Just do it?"
I try to look stern. "You already do enough." I consider my choices. "Pass me the black one. What, do you suppose, is an Addidas? I decide on the baggy black pants. No underwear, but that is not a problem because the fabric is very soft. And at least in black it is thick enough. Napoleon's pair is grey.
Finished, Napasha looks in the mirror. "Do you really think this is current fashion."
I shrug. "A lie would be more believable."
He tugs at the knit cuffs and gives himself another look. "Illya. I really am in a lot of trouble."
END CHAPTER SEVEN