There wasn't a sound, no birds chirping as the sky was darkening. A storm was on the way…
Napoleon sat in a comfortable arm chair beside the bed, one he'd dragged in from the living room. Remaining completely still, he listened to the quiet breathing of his partner.
Illya was in the bed, practically curled up in a fetal position, and considering he was as weak as a baby that was pretty an understandable.
Kuryakin had taken a bullet to the side, and after escaping together, he and Napoleon took refuge in one of UNCLE's many safe houses.
There were always ample medical supplies stored on hand in them and Napoleon took advantage of that, rather than trying to seek immediate help.
Going back on the streets with Illya in his current condition would be a death sentence for him, and of course there was a big risk the goons who'd been chasing after them would spot the UNCLE agents again.
Staying put for now was a the best course of action.
Everyone in the field had been given advanced first aid training, though Napoleon having been in the army during the Korean war was well acquainted with wounds such as Illya's and knew what to do.
He was able to extract the bullet with forceps, as well as clean and bandage the wound. It wasn't deep, and the round was a small, from a .22 so there wasn't a terrible amount of damage; no vital organs had been affected.
It was the bleeding that caused the biggest problem before they'd gotten to the safe house but that seemed under control at last.
Illya's breathing was steady, no raspiness or coughing….that was a good sign, though he was very pale from the blood loss.
Napoleon had changed the bandages several times, and thankfully each time the bleeding had lessened.
On the night stand beside the bed laid those bloody gauze pads, as he hadn't thrown them away. There was a porcelain bowl in which he'd poured antiseptic, cotton balls to dab the wound and the forceps, and of course more gauze bandages.
Out of the blue, there was a loud thunder clap, jerking the Russian awake. He moaned as he moved ever so slightly.
"It's okay Illya," Napoleon whispered.
"Thought it was bomb."
"No bombs buddy, just a thunderstorm. It'll pass soon," he reassured.
While his partner was half awake Napoleon carefully lifted the bandage to check...just a little blood on it this time.
He picked up a cotton ball with the forceps and dipped it into the antiseptic, carefully wiping the wound before he changed the bandage.
The rain softly hitting against the window pane lulled Illya back to sleep, which was the best thing for him right now.
If all went well through the night, they'd be able to travel tomorrow, and get some proper medical treatment back at headquarters.
In the meantime peace and quiet, and some tender loving care would do the trick…
Napoleon patted his breast pocket, reminding himself the document he and Illya had stolen from a THRUSH satrapy was still safe and sound.
He hadn't even looked at it as Illya had said it was what they were looking for, yet another formula for dominating mankind. It was during their retreat from the satrapy when Illya was shot...
Sometimes Solo tired of the game, especially when Illya was injured. Though his Russian partner had miraculous powers of recovery, one day he might not be able to recoup.
Illya always seemed to get the worst of it, while the Solo luck seemed to protect Napoleon like a guardian angel, but maybe someday that luck would just run out? It was bound to happen.
There was a price to pay for saving the world, and Napoleon suspected his bill was long overdue…
He closed his eyes as he yawned, allowing himself to nod off, just a cat nap.
It was going to be a long night.