The Unforeseen Consequences Affair - part 2
-------------------
Previously on The Man from UNCLE -
A seemingly straightforward 'information retrieval' assignment turned out to be a trap. Napoleon narrowly escaped death when Illya managed to push him out of the way of a booby-trapped filing cabinet. Napoleon escaped with minor bruising, but his main concern was for his partner who had been rendered unconscious by the blast. Escaping from his room in UNCLE's sickbay, he was relieved to find Illya being tended to by a pretty nurse.
-------------------
Napoleon frowned slightly as the nurse resumed her task. There was something about Illya's voice...an edge that was barely noticeable...and probably wouldn't have been noticed by anyone less well acquainted with the Russian. "So how're you feeling?" he asked. "No major damage, I hope?"
"A few broken ribs...a concussion...cuts," replied Illya, evenly. "And oh yes, I appear to be blind."
------------------
Napoleon froze in place for an instant at Illya's words. Then forgoing his usual gallantry, he almost pushed the nurse out of the way so he could stand in front of his friend. "Illya?" said Napoleon, a note of shock in his voice.
Against the pale skin - paler now than it usually was - the scratches on Illya's face seemed much more pronounced and raw than they had been earlier. It was obvious that Napoleon had interrupted the nurse as she was cleaning away the worst of the damage...the visible damage anyway. As he watched, Napoleon saw Illya slowly and with obvious pain, try to force his eyes open.
"Can you see anything?" asked Napoleon.
Illya slowly blinked his eyes open, hoping that he would be able to see something...anything. Logically he knew that there was unlikely to have been any change in his condition since the last time he had opened his eyes at the doctor's insistence, but he had to try. Now as he tried to look in the direction that the voice was coming from, all he could see was the same blur that had greeted him upon regaining consciousness in sick-bay - or what he had been *told* was sick-bay - a few hours earlier.
"It's all just a blur," he said finally, his shoulders slumping slightly as he let his eyes fall shut. He could feel someone squeezing his shoulder reassuringly and by the touch and strength he knew it was Napoleon. Wordlessly, he caught at the hand, squeezing it in acknowledgment, before letting go.
Finally Illya spoke again. "The doctor said that fragments from the explosion may have caused a corneal abrasion. He believes that the damage *should* heal...but he couldn't guarantee it." There was a rare sound of uncertainty in Illya's voice as he spoke, but it was gone when he abruptly changed the subject. "Did you brief Mr. Waverly on the mission?" he addressed the space in front of him.
Napoleon knew that this was Illya's attempt to restore some control to his situation by focusing on his work. "Mr. Waverly has been given a full report," he replied, "Such as it is. He believes that the whole 'leak' regarding the information was a set-up."
Illya nodded. "I always had doubts about the reliability of that source...we shall have to be more careful next time." He didn't have to add 'if there *is* a next time'.
"Mr. Solo," interrupted the nurse. "I have to finish cleaning and dressing Mr. Kuryakin's eyes."
"Of course," said Napoleon, standing back out of the way.
An observer would have noticed his apparent air of detachment as he watched the nurse clean the area before applying eye drops, followed by secure dressings. But the cool façade that he projected, masked a mind full of concern for his friend, and guilt that he was the cause of his injury. Oh it wasn't the first time that Illya had saved his life, nor was it the first time that he had been injured while doing so. Napoleon himself had picked up his fair share of scraps while protecting his partner. But they had always been fortunate enough to escape permanent injury. Permanent...the word echoed round his head. If Illya's condition was permanent, then it spelled the end of his career with UNCLE. Napoleon resolutely pushed the thought out of his mind. Illya *would* regain his sight...he *had* to.
-------------------
But three days later, as Napoleon, Mr. Waverly and Illya's doctor gathered in his room, there had been no improvement.
"It's still early days," said Dr. Harte. "Eye injuries are fairly unpredictable. Mr. Kuryakin's sight could easily return within a few days or weeks..."
"Or never," said Illya, quietly.
"That is possible," admitted the doctor. "But at this stage, it's just a case of wait and se...of waiting."
The room fell silent for a few seconds, before Illya spoke, with the air of one who had been considering his words for a while.
"If 'waiting' is all that can be done...then I would prefer to do it somewhere other than sick bay."
Mr. Waverly nodded in understanding. "Accommodation will be arranged upstairs for you as soon as Dr. Harte gives the all clear."
"Mr. Kuryakin can be released today if he wishes," said Dr. Harte. "Rest is what he really needs now. His dressings will need to be changed regularly, but a nurse can be sent upstairs when necessary."
"I would prefer to go home," interrupted Illya, with an edge in his voice. "Not sickbay...not 'upstairs in secure accommodation'...just somewhere *not* here. It would be more...more 'restful'."
"I hardly think that that would be advisable, Mr. Kuryakin," said Mr. Waverly. "You are not exactly operating at peak efficiency, and while I do not believe that the trap you fell victim to was aimed specifically at you or Mr. Solo, I am sure that there are many enemies out there of both UNCLE and you personally, who would see your vulnerability as an opportunity too good to pass up."
"I am well able to take care of myself," said Illya, a note of stubbornness in his voice.
"Really," observed Mr. Waverly. Without warning, he threw a matchbox straight at Illya.
Napoleon's hand shot out and caught it only inches from Illya's face. Mr. Waverly looked thoughtful, Dr. Harte looked shocked, Napoleon looked angry, and Illya frowned, aware that something of significance had happened.
"I will take care of him," said Napoleon, quietly. The tone in his voice, made it clear that this was not an issue on which he would be swayed. "He'll be safe with me."
"Do you have any objections, Mr. Kuryakin?" asked Mr. Waverly.
"That will be acceptable," replied Illya.
"Good," said Mr. Waverly. "Mr. Solo, a word with you...now."
Napoleon followed his boss outside. "Sir?"
"Mr. Solo, I am sure you are aware that UNCLE cannot afford to do without its top two 'section 2' agents for an extended period of time."
"Sir, I..."
Mr. Waverly ignored Napoleon's interruption as he continued, "However, some time off would probably benefit you as well as Mr. Kuryakin."
"Thank you, Sir." Napoleon was silent for a few seconds before speaking again, "Sir...if Illya *doesn't* regain his sight and has to leave UNCLE...what will happen to him?"
Mr. Waverly regarded Napoleon carefully before replying. "Mr. Kuryakin is one of our own...and we take care of our own."
"Thank you, Sir," said Napoleon again.
---------------------
To be continued
Ceindreadh
-------------------
Previously on The Man from UNCLE -
A seemingly straightforward 'information retrieval' assignment turned out to be a trap. Napoleon narrowly escaped death when Illya managed to push him out of the way of a booby-trapped filing cabinet. Napoleon escaped with minor bruising, but his main concern was for his partner who had been rendered unconscious by the blast. Escaping from his room in UNCLE's sickbay, he was relieved to find Illya being tended to by a pretty nurse.
-------------------
Napoleon frowned slightly as the nurse resumed her task. There was something about Illya's voice...an edge that was barely noticeable...and probably wouldn't have been noticed by anyone less well acquainted with the Russian. "So how're you feeling?" he asked. "No major damage, I hope?"
"A few broken ribs...a concussion...cuts," replied Illya, evenly. "And oh yes, I appear to be blind."
------------------
Napoleon froze in place for an instant at Illya's words. Then forgoing his usual gallantry, he almost pushed the nurse out of the way so he could stand in front of his friend. "Illya?" said Napoleon, a note of shock in his voice.
Against the pale skin - paler now than it usually was - the scratches on Illya's face seemed much more pronounced and raw than they had been earlier. It was obvious that Napoleon had interrupted the nurse as she was cleaning away the worst of the damage...the visible damage anyway. As he watched, Napoleon saw Illya slowly and with obvious pain, try to force his eyes open.
"Can you see anything?" asked Napoleon.
Illya slowly blinked his eyes open, hoping that he would be able to see something...anything. Logically he knew that there was unlikely to have been any change in his condition since the last time he had opened his eyes at the doctor's insistence, but he had to try. Now as he tried to look in the direction that the voice was coming from, all he could see was the same blur that had greeted him upon regaining consciousness in sick-bay - or what he had been *told* was sick-bay - a few hours earlier.
"It's all just a blur," he said finally, his shoulders slumping slightly as he let his eyes fall shut. He could feel someone squeezing his shoulder reassuringly and by the touch and strength he knew it was Napoleon. Wordlessly, he caught at the hand, squeezing it in acknowledgment, before letting go.
Finally Illya spoke again. "The doctor said that fragments from the explosion may have caused a corneal abrasion. He believes that the damage *should* heal...but he couldn't guarantee it." There was a rare sound of uncertainty in Illya's voice as he spoke, but it was gone when he abruptly changed the subject. "Did you brief Mr. Waverly on the mission?" he addressed the space in front of him.
Napoleon knew that this was Illya's attempt to restore some control to his situation by focusing on his work. "Mr. Waverly has been given a full report," he replied, "Such as it is. He believes that the whole 'leak' regarding the information was a set-up."
Illya nodded. "I always had doubts about the reliability of that source...we shall have to be more careful next time." He didn't have to add 'if there *is* a next time'.
"Mr. Solo," interrupted the nurse. "I have to finish cleaning and dressing Mr. Kuryakin's eyes."
"Of course," said Napoleon, standing back out of the way.
An observer would have noticed his apparent air of detachment as he watched the nurse clean the area before applying eye drops, followed by secure dressings. But the cool façade that he projected, masked a mind full of concern for his friend, and guilt that he was the cause of his injury. Oh it wasn't the first time that Illya had saved his life, nor was it the first time that he had been injured while doing so. Napoleon himself had picked up his fair share of scraps while protecting his partner. But they had always been fortunate enough to escape permanent injury. Permanent...the word echoed round his head. If Illya's condition was permanent, then it spelled the end of his career with UNCLE. Napoleon resolutely pushed the thought out of his mind. Illya *would* regain his sight...he *had* to.
-------------------
But three days later, as Napoleon, Mr. Waverly and Illya's doctor gathered in his room, there had been no improvement.
"It's still early days," said Dr. Harte. "Eye injuries are fairly unpredictable. Mr. Kuryakin's sight could easily return within a few days or weeks..."
"Or never," said Illya, quietly.
"That is possible," admitted the doctor. "But at this stage, it's just a case of wait and se...of waiting."
The room fell silent for a few seconds, before Illya spoke, with the air of one who had been considering his words for a while.
"If 'waiting' is all that can be done...then I would prefer to do it somewhere other than sick bay."
Mr. Waverly nodded in understanding. "Accommodation will be arranged upstairs for you as soon as Dr. Harte gives the all clear."
"Mr. Kuryakin can be released today if he wishes," said Dr. Harte. "Rest is what he really needs now. His dressings will need to be changed regularly, but a nurse can be sent upstairs when necessary."
"I would prefer to go home," interrupted Illya, with an edge in his voice. "Not sickbay...not 'upstairs in secure accommodation'...just somewhere *not* here. It would be more...more 'restful'."
"I hardly think that that would be advisable, Mr. Kuryakin," said Mr. Waverly. "You are not exactly operating at peak efficiency, and while I do not believe that the trap you fell victim to was aimed specifically at you or Mr. Solo, I am sure that there are many enemies out there of both UNCLE and you personally, who would see your vulnerability as an opportunity too good to pass up."
"I am well able to take care of myself," said Illya, a note of stubbornness in his voice.
"Really," observed Mr. Waverly. Without warning, he threw a matchbox straight at Illya.
Napoleon's hand shot out and caught it only inches from Illya's face. Mr. Waverly looked thoughtful, Dr. Harte looked shocked, Napoleon looked angry, and Illya frowned, aware that something of significance had happened.
"I will take care of him," said Napoleon, quietly. The tone in his voice, made it clear that this was not an issue on which he would be swayed. "He'll be safe with me."
"Do you have any objections, Mr. Kuryakin?" asked Mr. Waverly.
"That will be acceptable," replied Illya.
"Good," said Mr. Waverly. "Mr. Solo, a word with you...now."
Napoleon followed his boss outside. "Sir?"
"Mr. Solo, I am sure you are aware that UNCLE cannot afford to do without its top two 'section 2' agents for an extended period of time."
"Sir, I..."
Mr. Waverly ignored Napoleon's interruption as he continued, "However, some time off would probably benefit you as well as Mr. Kuryakin."
"Thank you, Sir." Napoleon was silent for a few seconds before speaking again, "Sir...if Illya *doesn't* regain his sight and has to leave UNCLE...what will happen to him?"
Mr. Waverly regarded Napoleon carefully before replying. "Mr. Kuryakin is one of our own...and we take care of our own."
"Thank you, Sir," said Napoleon again.
---------------------
To be continued
Ceindreadh
