The Iron Curtain Affair: Act 4
The Iron Curtain Affair
-a Man from UNCLE slash fanfic by Taylor Dancinghands
Pairing: Napoleon Solo/Illya Kuryakin; Characters: Napoleon Solo, Illya Kuryakin
Genre: slash, h/c, BDSM, A/U: Sentinels and Guides, Sentinels are a known institution
Warnings: explicit m/m sex
Rating: Mature/PG 17
Chapter Index
Prologue: A Very dangerous game...
Act 1: Why did it have to be you?
Act 2: I won't start anything if you don't.
Act 3: Good Morning sisters!
Act 4: They call him... KIng of Šumava.
Epilogue: ...unfinished business."
Act 4: "They call him... KIng of Šumava"
(Author's notes/warning: a horse comes to a sad end in this chapter, but off camera.)
They all woke around noon, Illya and Napoleon woken together by the smells of coffee and other culinary odors. Emerging from their room, they were drawn by sounds and smells to the lodge's dining room where the Sisters were laying out a truly magnificent brunch. They'd gotten Herr Fischer to direct them to the pantry and he'd granted them permission to get into the luxury goods, so there was smoked ham, aged cheeses, and four kinds of sausages along with the eggs, bacon, pancakes, fried potatoes, fruit and fresh bread, still warm from the oven.
"They are most eager to show their gratitude," Herr Fischer explained. "And if you are anywhere near as hungry as my Greta, we will have no trouble to eat all this food, yes?"
His Sentinel appeared in the doorway a moment later, just as one of the nuns came in from the kitchen bearing a basket full of piping hot rolls. Father Jelinek and the other sisters followed shortly after and, once a heartfelt Grace had been delivered by the Father, all fell to with the heartiest of appetites. The conversation over the meal was limited by the nuns speaking only Czech, a little Russian and Church Latin, and the topic mainly concerned the sorts of foods that their guests had not seen in their country for decades and were delighted to be enjoying now.
Once Agent Fischer had made it clear that she planned no rigorous activities for them today, Illya let himself relax and take his time over the meal. Watching Napoleon playfully flirt with the aging nuns in bad Russian was as entertaining as any dinner theater, and Illya found that even his lingering resentment with Agent Fischer had subsided to almost nothing. Good food is a balm that soothes nearly all ills, he reflected as he finished his last slice of home cured ham.
At the conclusion of the meal Herr Fischer agreed to oversee the kitchen cleanup with the nuns while Father Jelinek and the three UNCLE agents decamped to the lounge to have a private conversation.
"I am very sorry, Frau Fischer," the priest began, "that we've caused you trouble with your organization. I imagine that there's little we would be able to do to help, but if our testimony would be of any use…?"
"UNCLE absolutely supports your right to practice your religion," Napoleon affirmed. "And to seek safety, when you are oppressed because of it. Agent Fischer's bad luck is that she, and we, are supposed to be investigating a different sort of smuggling operation in this area."
"What is it you are investigating?" Father Jelinek asked. "If there's anything I know that can help you, I am happy to pass it on."
"You'll understand that we can't go into too many details," Agent Fischer replied, "but the operation we're investigating is bringing certain very dangerous, and politically destabilizing materials across the mountains, into the West. I've lived here long enough to know that whatever is being smuggled, there's always been one man, or one small group, who know the secret of where to cross through the bogs in the high passes. They call themselves the 'King of Böhmerwald' and nothing passes through this area that they don't know about."
"They call him, 'Král Šumavy' -King of Šumava, on our side of the border," Father Jelinek said with a smile. "That was who I had to ask for in a certain pub, in a certain village. The man who took my money and told me when and where to meet, he was not the one who guided us over the mountains. That man wore a great hood, and as it was a dark night, we did not see his face."
Illya shook his head in disappointment. "This is not exactly useful information," he muttered.
"I realize it is not," said the priest patiently. "But here is something that may be. When the man I met in the pub told me what day we should make the crossing, I asked if we could not wait a week, as one of the sisters had a cough. He told me it was not possible, because he only makes crossings on the week of the new moon, and that later in the week he was already engaged. We must either go on the day he said, or wait another month."
"Now, that is information we can use," Napoleon said. "Does that mean we need to go back and stake out the blind tonight?"
"Tomorrow night," said Agent Fischer. "We can check the place out tonight, just to be sure, but it will have taken him all morning to cross back over to the Czech side of the border. Still no guarantee that we won't be intercepting a load of Moravian moonshine rather than… what we're looking for, but…"
"But it's a solid tip," Illya commented. "The best we've had so far. Thank you, sir."
"I am happy, even proud, though it is a sin, to be able to help UNCLE," the priest replied. As this was the all the information he had for them, he now returned to the kitchen to help the nuns, leaving the agents to their plans.
"So," Napoleon began, "we send a party out tonight… or early tomorrow morning, just to be sure, then prepare for a full on stake-out the night after that?"
Agent Fischer nodded. "We should keep up a normal routine during the day. It's a good bet that the 'King' has confidants in town here."
"Indeed," Illya agreed, "and to that point, I'd like to recommend that Agent Fischer make the reconnoiter tonight, but stay here in town for the stake-out."
"Agent Kuryakin," Fischer objected, "I realize that my own actions put my trustworthiness in doubt, but surely…"
"It isn't about trust, Agent Fischer," Napoleon put in, glancing towards Illya to check that they were on the same page. Illya nodded and he continued. "It's about those in-town confidants you mentioned. Remember, if our cover's still intact, they'll think that you're the only law enforcement they need to watch. If they see you go out on the wrong night, then stay home when the goods are on the move, they'll think the coast is clear."
"And having some backup may not be a bad idea either," Illya suggested. Agent Fischer frowned, then nodded after another moment.
"I'm not crazy about it," she said at last, "but I can't argue with the sense of it.
Truth be told, the two of you are a force to be reckoned with, as my report on your training will state. You're the most powerful bonded pair I've ever had the pleasure of training, though you've got quite a few rough edges still, gentlemen." She smiled and Napoleon beamed with pride.
She gave them some reading assignments for the rest of the day and they agreed on which pub they'd meet at for dinner. Napoleon and Illya would reinforce their cover while they were there, and might even take a stroll to look over a few more potential investment properties today as well. It did make for a light day, followed by a restful night as Agent Fischer went out with her Guide to check on the blind before dawn the next morning, leaving the two other agents back at the lodge as they'd planned.
They were up, having a late-ish breakfast from the abundant remains of the day before's breakfast when Agent Fischer and her Guide returned. They reported finding nothing of note, as expected.
"That means you're on for tonight, gentlemen," Agent Fischer said. "I recommend getting to the blind around dusk; that means leaving here two hours before, around four thirty or so."
Napoleon and Illya would be on their own until then, as Agent Fischer would be driving Father Jelinek and the three sisters to a bus station in an adjacent town, and would take the scenic route on return, in order to lose any tails. There was still a bit of reading left for the two of them from yesterday's assignment, and for lunch their cover personas, Mr Symington and Franklin, would make another appearance at the neighborhood pub.
After lunch they prepared for their overnight stakeout, brewing flasks of coffee and making up hearty sandwiches wrapped in foil. They also packed their UNCLE communicators, though due to the mountainous terrain, they would only be able to contact each other. To call for Agent Fischer's backup, they had brought along a flare gun. They departed surreptitiously at half past four, taking back alleys and cutting through woodlots to avoid being seen leaving town.
Once away from the village and all the sights and smells of human civilization, Illya felt the Sentinel within him relax to a certain degree, opening his senses fully to the natural surroundings. Working with his Guide over the last week, Illya had to admit that his senses now extended rather farther than they had before and that he, himself was more sensitive to the common smells and background noises endemic to human habitation.
Napoleon served as a buffer against these things, even as he sharpened his Sentinel's abilities, just as the historical and medical articles Agent Fischer had given them to read suggested he would. It was beginning to look as if Illya's Soviet trainers had, at the very least, misrepresented the role of Guides and their abilities, and quite possibly lied outright. There was a sense, from the instinctual heart of his Sentinel, that he was finally shaking off the chains of this legacy of half truths and stretching to his full strength and capacity. Could this new capacity even include a Spirit Animal? How could it not, if Napoleon had one as well? Letting his newly liberated instincts guide him, Illya's eyes looked towards the sky, catching a flash of movement at his periphery. Illya knew then, even without a clear sight, that there was a Spirit Animal for him, and its home was the sky.
"Seeing something there, Sentinel?" Napoleon asked as they walked.
"Not yet," Illya answered, sensing immediately that his Guide understood. "Not long though, I think. Not long at all."
~ ⇔ ~ ⇔ ~ ⇔ ~ ⇔ ~ ⇔ ~
Once they'd gotten settled into the blind and thoroughly policed the area for any visible traces of their presence, the stakeout quickly became just as boring as most stakeouts are. They weren't really expecting anyone to show up until after 4am or so, but both agents needed to be awake and attentive all night long. Even their conversations needed to be kept to a minimum, for sounds could travel a long way in these mountain passes. All they could do to relieve their boredom was eat, drink coffee and occasionally switch up who was sitting next to the doorway in the blind.
Napoleon was just itching to ask Illya about what he'd seen in the sky on the trail up, but knew too many reasons why he shouldn't. He knew already that Illya thought it might be his Spirit Animal, and he doubted Illya knew any more than that himself. Still, it put a smile on his face every time he thought of Illya Kuryakin, the great Russian skeptic, coming around to the idea of having something so removed from the empirical as a Spirit Animal. Naturally it was Illya who was up front when he reported hearing something.
"Horses," he said softly, checking his UNCLE special, loaded with tranquilizing rounds, as was Napoleon's. "Five or six of them, I think." Both agents edged away from the opening in the blind, huddling together in the shadowed interior. They waited in silence, guns at the ready, until Illya said, "Damn… they're holding back. I think… one of them is a Sentinel."
Napoleon gazed out of the blind into the grey light of predawn, extending his empathic senses to the approaching party. There was a Sentinel among them, but he would not be able to sense what Napoleon masked. He'd practiced this trick with Agent Fischer, cueing the proper state of mind with the phrase, 'nobody here but us chickens.' Illya looked at him curiously when he muttered this to himself, but then nodded his understanding. A moment later the approaching party started forward again.
They waited until the riders-three of them, leading three more heavily laden horses-had become visible, and the leader dismounted and approaching the blind. Then Illya announced their presence.
"Halt, and drop your weapons!" he said, firing a sleep dart into one of the horses when its rider tried to make a break for it. The animal cried out in surprise, then sank quietly to the ground and the rider had to jump free. This was where the strategic flaw of their blind became problematic, for now that the smugglers knew where they were, they were easy targets and the blind offered absolutely no protection from bullets.
Illya dropped to the ground, dashing into the middle of the group to shoot, targeting the laiden horses. Napoleon took the calculated risk of keeping to the high ground of the blind. From there he could see one of the smugglers take a shot at Illya and Napoleon gave answering fire, though his target was hard to see in the uncertain light. He, or the blind where he crouched, was not hard to see however, and now that he'd drawn attention to himself, he became a target. Several bullets pierced the brush and bark walls of the blind and then one of them struck Napoleon in the leg.
Swearing viciously, he returned fire and took down another smuggler. Illya's gun took out another, and the third now took to his heels, or rather, his horse's heels. Leaping onto one of the two horses still standing, the lone survivor and, Napoleon realized, the Sentinel they'd sensed on approach, spurred his mount back up the trail at full speed. Illya watched him go, then glanced back at Napoleon. He had to know his Guide was wounded, but Napoleon didn't want him to stay back on his account.
"Go on!" he shouted. "That's him; the Sentinel, the 'King of Šumava'. We can't let him get away!"
Illya's gaze met his for a full second, like a rapid fire negotiation. Napoleon would be fine; Illya would go after the criminal. Seizing the reins of the other standing horse, Illya mounted and urged the animal up the trail after his prey. Napoleon watched them go as he pulled the first aid kit out of their gear and got a bandage to wrap his wounded leg. It was bleeding a bit more than he liked, but he would manage. He had to.
Painful though it was to descend the short ladder out of the blind, Napoleon knew that the smugglers they'd darted would not stay down long, nor would the horses with their precious, lethal cargo. He saw to them first, simply cutting through the girth straps which secured the packs to the horses. It made no difference to him if the horse woke and ran off, as long as the goods remained.
The smugglers he dragged aside and bound, hand and foot, securing them where he could keep an eye on them from the blind. As unprotected as it was, it still provided higher ground, and hid him from sight at first. By the time Napoleon had mounted the ladder once again, however, he was feeling decidedly light headed and needed a fresh bandage. Glancing over their gear for the flare gun, Napoleon realized that Illya had it in his coat pocket.
He re-bandaged his injured thigh, frowning at the amount of blood and pulling the new bandage as tight as he could. He had a feeling it wouldn't be enough, and reached for his communicator. Surely Illya would have either caught or lost the smuggling kingpin by now. In any case, it was time to call for backup.
Unfortunately, no response came to Napoleon's call. Only static could be heard on his communicator, which told him nothing except that no one would be coming to help any time soon. Come on Sentinel, he though, laying the open communicator on the floor beside him. Your Guide is waiting.
~ ⇔ ~ ⇔ ~ ⇔ ~ ⇔ ~ ⇔ ~
Illya's perception narrowed to near tunnel vision intensity as he urged his horse up the trail after the rogue Sentinel. That any Sentinel would allow such dangerous materials to be transported through his own territory offended every fibre of his Sentinel heart. He gave not one thought to the dangers of following the man as he left the path, so focused was he on closing the distance between them. So narrow was his focus that he did not consider the significance of galloping full speed across what seemed a broad, open meadow, nor think it odd to hear the cry of a hunting bird at this hour of night.
Illya was caught completely unaware when his prey turned on him suddenly, firing his gun to strike the ground just in front of Illya's horse. The animal screamed and reared up, throwing Illya to tumble head first into a rock. Stunned, he dazedly watched his horse dash mindlessly off across the meadow, which, of course, wasn't a meadow at all, but an extensive peat bog. He heard the poor creature scream in terror a moment later, but he could not seem to coordinate himself enough to rise and see what was happening. Instead, he felt the dark of the shadows around him seem to gather, darkening his vision, and then he knew nothing at all for some time.
When his eyes opened next, Illya was aware not of dark, but light-pale, and suffusing the land around him. There was also sound, of the breeze moving through the surrounding grasses and shrubs, and something chirping like an insect, incessantly. After several iterations, Illya suddenly knew what it was.
Sitting abruptly was a mistake, and Illya first found himself retching into the muddy grass at his side. Once the nausea passed the headache was almost blinding, but Illya still managed to put his hands on the chirping communicator and activate it without dropping it.
"Kuryakin here," he managed, once he had it open.
"Illya, thank God! Where the hell have you been?" Napoleon's voice showed concern, but was also pained and Illya remembered that Napoleon had been injured.
"Horse threw me," he muttered, eyes closed against the headache. "I seem to have hit my head on a log. How long have you been trying to reach me?"
"Forty minutes at least," Napoleon said. "Are you alright?"
"Head hurts, just like every time I've been knocked out," Illya said. "I'll be fine. What about you?"
"I've been shot before too," Napoleon replied. "I've got the first aid supplies here, so I'll be fine, but you've got the flare gun."
Illya swore, patting down his jacket pockets until he found it. "Yes, I have it. I'm sending the signal now. Agent Fischer will probably get to you in an hour or so. Is everything else secured where you are?"
Watching the flare climb into the grey, predawn sky, Illya listened to Napoleon explain that the smuggled goods as well as the remaining two smugglers were secured. "And what about the fellow you were following?"
"The King of Šumava reigns still," Illya said with a sigh, relaying his own situation. "And I'm afraid my horse has come to a bad end. Not that it would have any idea of how to get out of this swamp either."
"Swamp?" The single word raised a host of questions.
"Our smuggler king led me right into the thick of it," Illya said with chagrin. "And I followed him like an idiot."
"Well, I told you to, so that makes us both idiots," Napoleon said. "Now let's be smart and get you out of it. Can you follow your own tracks back the way you came?"
Grabbing hold of a nearby sapling, Illya pulled himself upright and gazed around him for any sign of his or his opponent's passing. Now that the sky was beginning to lighten, the shimmer of standing water became visible everywhere. On the muddy patch of high ground where he stood, Illya could see the mixed tracks of their two horses, one set running into a patch of water to his left, one running straight ahead, into another watery patch. Tracking them backwards, he found that they both appeared out of an expanse of shallow water, grassy tufts and mud that stretched some distance.
"There's water everywhere, covering the tracks," Illya said, trying not to let his dismay show.
"Okay," Napoleon's voice came after a pause. "Then… you're just going to have to use your senses to tell where it's safe to walk. If that other Sentinel could figure it out…"
That man, Illya thought but did not say, almost certainly learned the route from the previous 'smuggler king' and he from his own predecessor, going back to the middle ages. Then again, these peat bogs weren't exactly unchanging. No doubt each smuggler guide would have to find new ways after a winter freeze or spring flood. Cutting a long, sound branch from the sapling to use as a probe, Illya took a new look at the tufts of rushes and clumps of shrubbery visible above the water, in the direction from which his tracks emerged.
"You may have a point," Illya allowed, drawing a long breath and centering himself in the nature around him. He took another, not quite able to reach the calm awareness he wanted. He drew a third breath, then lifted the communicator again. "I… I think I will need you… to find my focus…"
"Of course," Napoleon's voice touched the center within him and helped Illya find it immediately. "Just listen to my voice, let your eyes relax, take in everything; let your ears take in everything. You already know what's significant; you'll recognise it when you see it."
One more breath and now Illya was where he wanted to be. He was part of the land around him now, sensing what the trees sensed, feeling through the souls of his shoes what the roots of the sedges and bushes felt. The rising dawn birdsong was no longer a cacophony, but a symphony of stories, as clear to read as the morning newspaper. Illya strode forward now, prodding the ground ahead with his stick, not as a test but a confirmation of what he was fairly sure he would find.
No sooner had he taken his first step into the shallow water, when Illya heard another voice in the avian symphony-an intruder which the other birds seemed not to notice. If they had, such a sound would have caused them to fall instantly silent, but Illya already knew that he was the only one who heard the hunting bird's cry. He lifted his eyes to find it and spotted the indicative silhouette in the upper branches of a half dead tree, just ahead.
"You still with me, Sentinel?" Napoleon paused in his monologue to check in.
"Very much with you," Illya said. "Both of us… I think. Please continue."
"Well alright," Napoleon said with a surprised chuckle. "I bet she'll lead the way, if you let her… or him."
"Her, I think," Illya said, "though I can't tell you why." He glanced up at the silhouette again and saw it take wing and fly a short distance, more or less in the direction he was going. Napoleon's voice over the communicator continued, holding Illya in the moment, letting him see the way ahead as clearly as if it were marked out in lights.
It was slow going nonetheless. Though Illya never stepped into any really deep patches, he frequently found mud deep enough to clutch at his feet and shoes, releasing them only with some effort on his part. Through it all, Illya could feel that he was making progress, every step bringing him closer to his Guide. So certain was he, and so pleased at his success at finding his way through the bog, Illya did not notice how his Guide's voice grew gradually weaker, and weaker.
It was as Illya was following his Spirit Animal with his eyes, watching it lift away from another tree branch, when, rather than gliding to another tree, she flew straight at Illya, flapping her striking black and white wings nearly in his face. He caught a glimpse of her head then as well, the distinctive black 'tear' marks on her face identifying her as a falcon, and stumbled back, giving a wordless shout in surprise.
"Illya? What's happening?" Suddenly, Illya heard the unsteadiness in his Guide's voice and felt a surge of anxiety.
"I'm fine… just my Animal Spirit getting my attention. Napoleon, are you alright?" Illya replied.
"I… may be losing more blood than is strictly healthy…" Napoleon admitted.
The surge of fear Illya had felt expanded, all his senses momentarily overwhelmed with a rush of terrible dread. "Napoleon… you idiot! Why didn't you say anything?"
"Didn't want to distract you…" Napoleon's voice was barely audible, as if admitting his plight had taken his last strength. The falcon's cry came once again, like a bell, crystallizing Illya's senses to razor sharpness. She flew and Illya leapt after her, casting his stick aside. She was the manifestation of all his senses; her direction the sum of all his reasoning; he needed no further considerations to make his way.
Feet landing too lightly for the mud to seize, Illya crossed the last stretch of swamp and plunged into the forest. Where he saw his falcon fly and light and fly again, Illya followed, dodging trees and scrambling over rocks. They came to the trail again in no time, and now Illya ran full out and his Spirit Animal soared. He saw her circling before he spotted the blind, but as soon as it came into view it also came in to range of his sense of smell.
The scent of blood permeated the air and Illya had the passing thought that the forest rangers were going to have to burn the blind down because no animal would ever come near it with such a taint. This was his Guide's blood that he was smelling, though, and Illya was filled with alarm, reaching out with his hearing to catch Napoleon's heartbeat. He found it, faint and unsteady as it was, and clung to it, as if his attention alone could support it.
Scrambling up the ladder into the blind, Illya found his Guide within, slumped against one wall and unmoving. There was something moving in the shadows of the blind, however, that Illya saw stretching up to lick his Guide's face. It was a lithe little creature, and it left off licking Napoleon's face as soon as it saw Illya, dashing up to him with urgent yipping sounds.
"I'm here now; I've got you," Illya said, gathering his Guide into his arms. He had no idea how much time had passed since he'd fired the flare gun, but dared not waste a minute getting Napoleon to a hospital. The floor of the blind was covered in blood and much had seeped between the floorboards to drip on the ground beneath.
Napoleon groaned quietly when Illya set him on the ground outside to tie another bandage over his thigh.
"I'm taking you back to town now, Napoleon," he said. "You've got to hang on till then."
"Horses… run off," Napoleon mumbled.
Now Illya glanced around to see the three sets of saddlebags with their severed straps on the ground, and the crushed vegetation where the horses had lain. The tranquilizers had worn off already, on account of the creatures' size, and they'd evidently fled. The two smugglers they'd caught were tied together to one of the legs of the blind, and they were still out.
"I'll manage," Illya said, pulling Napoleon's bandage tight.
"Can't leave the… bags," Napoleon protested as Illya lifted him again. "Too dangerous…"
It wasn't that Napoleon didn't have a point, and a little part of Illya was stridently insisting that this was just another example of how having a Guide complicated things, but Illya didn't care in the least. "They're not going anywhere and Agent Fischer is on her way," he said, well aware that leaving now might well constitute dereliction.
None of that mattered to Illya at the moment, however. Holding his Guide close, Illya set off down the trail at a light jog, pacing himself for a long run. The pace jostled Napoleon, who moaned and clutched weakly at Illya's shirt.
"Just hold on," Illya murmured without breaking his stride. "Just stay with me till I get you to help."
The rest of the journey down the trail passed in a blur for Illya, though it did seem that there were moments when he saw Napoleon's otter perched on his Guide's shoulder and licking his face. He was vaguely aware of his own Animal Spirit's nearby presence, sometimes flitting along above, sometimes swooping ahead, down the trail. The sky lightened as he went, from a dim, pearly grey to a pale blue shot with pink and gold. In this sharper light Illya spotted his falcon circling again, calling his attention to something down the trail.
Hope lightening his step, Illya jogged around the next bend to see, as he had hoped, Agent Fischer and her Guide, riding and leading a pair of saddled horses with them. They stopped and called out as soon as they saw Illya and his burden.
As briefly as he could, Illya reported on the situation, insisting that Napoleon could not keep himself on a horse, and that Agent Fischer and her husband had better go on ahead to secure the smugglers and their as yet unknown cargo. Agent Fischer took it all in without a blink, not even when Illya confessed to leaving the smugglers and their cargo behind.
"You know where the clinic is in town?" she asked, helping Illya manage Napoleon as he mounted one of the free horses. "They'll have enough blood plasma on hand to stabilize him once you get there, and an ambulance to get you to the hospital."
It was information that Illya appreciated and he told her so as he resettled Napoleon in his arms and urged his horse forward. The animal's loping canter jostled Napoleon painfully, but Illya help him close, kissing his brow and promising that the ride would be over soon.
Illya found the clinic without a single wrong turn once they'd entered the town, and much to his relief they seemed to know just how to handle distressed Sentinels and Guides. Not once did they try to separate Illya and Napoleon, and the bed they found for his Guide had a chair next to it for him. Several units of plasma later, Napoleon was considerably more alert and Illya profoundly more at ease.
"We'll be sending you both by ambulance to the main hospital in Regen in a little while," the on-duty nurse said. "Mr Solo seems to be recovering as expected, however, so I'd say you're mostly out of the woods."
Illya thanked her as she left them in privacy, feeling the state of heightened alarm and awareness slowly abate. Letting his eyes drift partially closed, Illya felt Napoleon squeeze his hand and murmur a question.
"Hey, Sentinel," he said, "is that yours?"
Illya followed his Guide's gaze to the top of his IV stand, and there perched Illya's falcon in all her splendor, preening herself casually. Following her gaze, Illya now spotted Napoleon's otter, draped across his feet and cleaning his whiskers.
"Must be," acknowledged Illya. "And is that yours?" He motioned toward the foot of the bed.
"You know it," Napoleon answered, managing to sound smug in spite of everything.
Illya was dismayed and yet resigned at how enamored he was, even of Napoleon's smugness, and knew himself to be hopelessly lost. "I suppose I do," he admitted with a smile.
~ ⇔ ~ ⇔ ~ ⇔ ~ ⇔ ~ ⇔ ~
Epilogue: ...unfinished business."
-a Man from UNCLE slash fanfic by Taylor Dancinghands
Pairing: Napoleon Solo/Illya Kuryakin; Characters: Napoleon Solo, Illya Kuryakin
Genre: slash, h/c, BDSM, A/U: Sentinels and Guides, Sentinels are a known institution
Warnings: explicit m/m sex
Rating: Mature/PG 17
Chapter Index
Prologue: A Very dangerous game...
Act 1: Why did it have to be you?
Act 2: I won't start anything if you don't.
Act 3: Good Morning sisters!
Act 4: They call him... KIng of Šumava.
Epilogue: ...unfinished business."
Act 4: "They call him... KIng of Šumava"
(Author's notes/warning: a horse comes to a sad end in this chapter, but off camera.)
They all woke around noon, Illya and Napoleon woken together by the smells of coffee and other culinary odors. Emerging from their room, they were drawn by sounds and smells to the lodge's dining room where the Sisters were laying out a truly magnificent brunch. They'd gotten Herr Fischer to direct them to the pantry and he'd granted them permission to get into the luxury goods, so there was smoked ham, aged cheeses, and four kinds of sausages along with the eggs, bacon, pancakes, fried potatoes, fruit and fresh bread, still warm from the oven.
"They are most eager to show their gratitude," Herr Fischer explained. "And if you are anywhere near as hungry as my Greta, we will have no trouble to eat all this food, yes?"
His Sentinel appeared in the doorway a moment later, just as one of the nuns came in from the kitchen bearing a basket full of piping hot rolls. Father Jelinek and the other sisters followed shortly after and, once a heartfelt Grace had been delivered by the Father, all fell to with the heartiest of appetites. The conversation over the meal was limited by the nuns speaking only Czech, a little Russian and Church Latin, and the topic mainly concerned the sorts of foods that their guests had not seen in their country for decades and were delighted to be enjoying now.
Once Agent Fischer had made it clear that she planned no rigorous activities for them today, Illya let himself relax and take his time over the meal. Watching Napoleon playfully flirt with the aging nuns in bad Russian was as entertaining as any dinner theater, and Illya found that even his lingering resentment with Agent Fischer had subsided to almost nothing. Good food is a balm that soothes nearly all ills, he reflected as he finished his last slice of home cured ham.
At the conclusion of the meal Herr Fischer agreed to oversee the kitchen cleanup with the nuns while Father Jelinek and the three UNCLE agents decamped to the lounge to have a private conversation.
"I am very sorry, Frau Fischer," the priest began, "that we've caused you trouble with your organization. I imagine that there's little we would be able to do to help, but if our testimony would be of any use…?"
"UNCLE absolutely supports your right to practice your religion," Napoleon affirmed. "And to seek safety, when you are oppressed because of it. Agent Fischer's bad luck is that she, and we, are supposed to be investigating a different sort of smuggling operation in this area."
"What is it you are investigating?" Father Jelinek asked. "If there's anything I know that can help you, I am happy to pass it on."
"You'll understand that we can't go into too many details," Agent Fischer replied, "but the operation we're investigating is bringing certain very dangerous, and politically destabilizing materials across the mountains, into the West. I've lived here long enough to know that whatever is being smuggled, there's always been one man, or one small group, who know the secret of where to cross through the bogs in the high passes. They call themselves the 'King of Böhmerwald' and nothing passes through this area that they don't know about."
"They call him, 'Král Šumavy' -King of Šumava, on our side of the border," Father Jelinek said with a smile. "That was who I had to ask for in a certain pub, in a certain village. The man who took my money and told me when and where to meet, he was not the one who guided us over the mountains. That man wore a great hood, and as it was a dark night, we did not see his face."
Illya shook his head in disappointment. "This is not exactly useful information," he muttered.
"I realize it is not," said the priest patiently. "But here is something that may be. When the man I met in the pub told me what day we should make the crossing, I asked if we could not wait a week, as one of the sisters had a cough. He told me it was not possible, because he only makes crossings on the week of the new moon, and that later in the week he was already engaged. We must either go on the day he said, or wait another month."
"Now, that is information we can use," Napoleon said. "Does that mean we need to go back and stake out the blind tonight?"
"Tomorrow night," said Agent Fischer. "We can check the place out tonight, just to be sure, but it will have taken him all morning to cross back over to the Czech side of the border. Still no guarantee that we won't be intercepting a load of Moravian moonshine rather than… what we're looking for, but…"
"But it's a solid tip," Illya commented. "The best we've had so far. Thank you, sir."
"I am happy, even proud, though it is a sin, to be able to help UNCLE," the priest replied. As this was the all the information he had for them, he now returned to the kitchen to help the nuns, leaving the agents to their plans.
"So," Napoleon began, "we send a party out tonight… or early tomorrow morning, just to be sure, then prepare for a full on stake-out the night after that?"
Agent Fischer nodded. "We should keep up a normal routine during the day. It's a good bet that the 'King' has confidants in town here."
"Indeed," Illya agreed, "and to that point, I'd like to recommend that Agent Fischer make the reconnoiter tonight, but stay here in town for the stake-out."
"Agent Kuryakin," Fischer objected, "I realize that my own actions put my trustworthiness in doubt, but surely…"
"It isn't about trust, Agent Fischer," Napoleon put in, glancing towards Illya to check that they were on the same page. Illya nodded and he continued. "It's about those in-town confidants you mentioned. Remember, if our cover's still intact, they'll think that you're the only law enforcement they need to watch. If they see you go out on the wrong night, then stay home when the goods are on the move, they'll think the coast is clear."
"And having some backup may not be a bad idea either," Illya suggested. Agent Fischer frowned, then nodded after another moment.
"I'm not crazy about it," she said at last, "but I can't argue with the sense of it.
Truth be told, the two of you are a force to be reckoned with, as my report on your training will state. You're the most powerful bonded pair I've ever had the pleasure of training, though you've got quite a few rough edges still, gentlemen." She smiled and Napoleon beamed with pride.
She gave them some reading assignments for the rest of the day and they agreed on which pub they'd meet at for dinner. Napoleon and Illya would reinforce their cover while they were there, and might even take a stroll to look over a few more potential investment properties today as well. It did make for a light day, followed by a restful night as Agent Fischer went out with her Guide to check on the blind before dawn the next morning, leaving the two other agents back at the lodge as they'd planned.
They were up, having a late-ish breakfast from the abundant remains of the day before's breakfast when Agent Fischer and her Guide returned. They reported finding nothing of note, as expected.
"That means you're on for tonight, gentlemen," Agent Fischer said. "I recommend getting to the blind around dusk; that means leaving here two hours before, around four thirty or so."
Napoleon and Illya would be on their own until then, as Agent Fischer would be driving Father Jelinek and the three sisters to a bus station in an adjacent town, and would take the scenic route on return, in order to lose any tails. There was still a bit of reading left for the two of them from yesterday's assignment, and for lunch their cover personas, Mr Symington and Franklin, would make another appearance at the neighborhood pub.
After lunch they prepared for their overnight stakeout, brewing flasks of coffee and making up hearty sandwiches wrapped in foil. They also packed their UNCLE communicators, though due to the mountainous terrain, they would only be able to contact each other. To call for Agent Fischer's backup, they had brought along a flare gun. They departed surreptitiously at half past four, taking back alleys and cutting through woodlots to avoid being seen leaving town.
Once away from the village and all the sights and smells of human civilization, Illya felt the Sentinel within him relax to a certain degree, opening his senses fully to the natural surroundings. Working with his Guide over the last week, Illya had to admit that his senses now extended rather farther than they had before and that he, himself was more sensitive to the common smells and background noises endemic to human habitation.
Napoleon served as a buffer against these things, even as he sharpened his Sentinel's abilities, just as the historical and medical articles Agent Fischer had given them to read suggested he would. It was beginning to look as if Illya's Soviet trainers had, at the very least, misrepresented the role of Guides and their abilities, and quite possibly lied outright. There was a sense, from the instinctual heart of his Sentinel, that he was finally shaking off the chains of this legacy of half truths and stretching to his full strength and capacity. Could this new capacity even include a Spirit Animal? How could it not, if Napoleon had one as well? Letting his newly liberated instincts guide him, Illya's eyes looked towards the sky, catching a flash of movement at his periphery. Illya knew then, even without a clear sight, that there was a Spirit Animal for him, and its home was the sky.
"Seeing something there, Sentinel?" Napoleon asked as they walked.
"Not yet," Illya answered, sensing immediately that his Guide understood. "Not long though, I think. Not long at all."
~ ⇔ ~ ⇔ ~ ⇔ ~ ⇔ ~ ⇔ ~
Once they'd gotten settled into the blind and thoroughly policed the area for any visible traces of their presence, the stakeout quickly became just as boring as most stakeouts are. They weren't really expecting anyone to show up until after 4am or so, but both agents needed to be awake and attentive all night long. Even their conversations needed to be kept to a minimum, for sounds could travel a long way in these mountain passes. All they could do to relieve their boredom was eat, drink coffee and occasionally switch up who was sitting next to the doorway in the blind.
Napoleon was just itching to ask Illya about what he'd seen in the sky on the trail up, but knew too many reasons why he shouldn't. He knew already that Illya thought it might be his Spirit Animal, and he doubted Illya knew any more than that himself. Still, it put a smile on his face every time he thought of Illya Kuryakin, the great Russian skeptic, coming around to the idea of having something so removed from the empirical as a Spirit Animal. Naturally it was Illya who was up front when he reported hearing something.
"Horses," he said softly, checking his UNCLE special, loaded with tranquilizing rounds, as was Napoleon's. "Five or six of them, I think." Both agents edged away from the opening in the blind, huddling together in the shadowed interior. They waited in silence, guns at the ready, until Illya said, "Damn… they're holding back. I think… one of them is a Sentinel."
Napoleon gazed out of the blind into the grey light of predawn, extending his empathic senses to the approaching party. There was a Sentinel among them, but he would not be able to sense what Napoleon masked. He'd practiced this trick with Agent Fischer, cueing the proper state of mind with the phrase, 'nobody here but us chickens.' Illya looked at him curiously when he muttered this to himself, but then nodded his understanding. A moment later the approaching party started forward again.
They waited until the riders-three of them, leading three more heavily laden horses-had become visible, and the leader dismounted and approaching the blind. Then Illya announced their presence.
"Halt, and drop your weapons!" he said, firing a sleep dart into one of the horses when its rider tried to make a break for it. The animal cried out in surprise, then sank quietly to the ground and the rider had to jump free. This was where the strategic flaw of their blind became problematic, for now that the smugglers knew where they were, they were easy targets and the blind offered absolutely no protection from bullets.
Illya dropped to the ground, dashing into the middle of the group to shoot, targeting the laiden horses. Napoleon took the calculated risk of keeping to the high ground of the blind. From there he could see one of the smugglers take a shot at Illya and Napoleon gave answering fire, though his target was hard to see in the uncertain light. He, or the blind where he crouched, was not hard to see however, and now that he'd drawn attention to himself, he became a target. Several bullets pierced the brush and bark walls of the blind and then one of them struck Napoleon in the leg.
Swearing viciously, he returned fire and took down another smuggler. Illya's gun took out another, and the third now took to his heels, or rather, his horse's heels. Leaping onto one of the two horses still standing, the lone survivor and, Napoleon realized, the Sentinel they'd sensed on approach, spurred his mount back up the trail at full speed. Illya watched him go, then glanced back at Napoleon. He had to know his Guide was wounded, but Napoleon didn't want him to stay back on his account.
"Go on!" he shouted. "That's him; the Sentinel, the 'King of Šumava'. We can't let him get away!"
Illya's gaze met his for a full second, like a rapid fire negotiation. Napoleon would be fine; Illya would go after the criminal. Seizing the reins of the other standing horse, Illya mounted and urged the animal up the trail after his prey. Napoleon watched them go as he pulled the first aid kit out of their gear and got a bandage to wrap his wounded leg. It was bleeding a bit more than he liked, but he would manage. He had to.
Painful though it was to descend the short ladder out of the blind, Napoleon knew that the smugglers they'd darted would not stay down long, nor would the horses with their precious, lethal cargo. He saw to them first, simply cutting through the girth straps which secured the packs to the horses. It made no difference to him if the horse woke and ran off, as long as the goods remained.
The smugglers he dragged aside and bound, hand and foot, securing them where he could keep an eye on them from the blind. As unprotected as it was, it still provided higher ground, and hid him from sight at first. By the time Napoleon had mounted the ladder once again, however, he was feeling decidedly light headed and needed a fresh bandage. Glancing over their gear for the flare gun, Napoleon realized that Illya had it in his coat pocket.
He re-bandaged his injured thigh, frowning at the amount of blood and pulling the new bandage as tight as he could. He had a feeling it wouldn't be enough, and reached for his communicator. Surely Illya would have either caught or lost the smuggling kingpin by now. In any case, it was time to call for backup.
Unfortunately, no response came to Napoleon's call. Only static could be heard on his communicator, which told him nothing except that no one would be coming to help any time soon. Come on Sentinel, he though, laying the open communicator on the floor beside him. Your Guide is waiting.
~ ⇔ ~ ⇔ ~ ⇔ ~ ⇔ ~ ⇔ ~
Illya's perception narrowed to near tunnel vision intensity as he urged his horse up the trail after the rogue Sentinel. That any Sentinel would allow such dangerous materials to be transported through his own territory offended every fibre of his Sentinel heart. He gave not one thought to the dangers of following the man as he left the path, so focused was he on closing the distance between them. So narrow was his focus that he did not consider the significance of galloping full speed across what seemed a broad, open meadow, nor think it odd to hear the cry of a hunting bird at this hour of night.
Illya was caught completely unaware when his prey turned on him suddenly, firing his gun to strike the ground just in front of Illya's horse. The animal screamed and reared up, throwing Illya to tumble head first into a rock. Stunned, he dazedly watched his horse dash mindlessly off across the meadow, which, of course, wasn't a meadow at all, but an extensive peat bog. He heard the poor creature scream in terror a moment later, but he could not seem to coordinate himself enough to rise and see what was happening. Instead, he felt the dark of the shadows around him seem to gather, darkening his vision, and then he knew nothing at all for some time.
When his eyes opened next, Illya was aware not of dark, but light-pale, and suffusing the land around him. There was also sound, of the breeze moving through the surrounding grasses and shrubs, and something chirping like an insect, incessantly. After several iterations, Illya suddenly knew what it was.
Sitting abruptly was a mistake, and Illya first found himself retching into the muddy grass at his side. Once the nausea passed the headache was almost blinding, but Illya still managed to put his hands on the chirping communicator and activate it without dropping it.
"Kuryakin here," he managed, once he had it open.
"Illya, thank God! Where the hell have you been?" Napoleon's voice showed concern, but was also pained and Illya remembered that Napoleon had been injured.
"Horse threw me," he muttered, eyes closed against the headache. "I seem to have hit my head on a log. How long have you been trying to reach me?"
"Forty minutes at least," Napoleon said. "Are you alright?"
"Head hurts, just like every time I've been knocked out," Illya said. "I'll be fine. What about you?"
"I've been shot before too," Napoleon replied. "I've got the first aid supplies here, so I'll be fine, but you've got the flare gun."
Illya swore, patting down his jacket pockets until he found it. "Yes, I have it. I'm sending the signal now. Agent Fischer will probably get to you in an hour or so. Is everything else secured where you are?"
Watching the flare climb into the grey, predawn sky, Illya listened to Napoleon explain that the smuggled goods as well as the remaining two smugglers were secured. "And what about the fellow you were following?"
"The King of Šumava reigns still," Illya said with a sigh, relaying his own situation. "And I'm afraid my horse has come to a bad end. Not that it would have any idea of how to get out of this swamp either."
"Swamp?" The single word raised a host of questions.
"Our smuggler king led me right into the thick of it," Illya said with chagrin. "And I followed him like an idiot."
"Well, I told you to, so that makes us both idiots," Napoleon said. "Now let's be smart and get you out of it. Can you follow your own tracks back the way you came?"
Grabbing hold of a nearby sapling, Illya pulled himself upright and gazed around him for any sign of his or his opponent's passing. Now that the sky was beginning to lighten, the shimmer of standing water became visible everywhere. On the muddy patch of high ground where he stood, Illya could see the mixed tracks of their two horses, one set running into a patch of water to his left, one running straight ahead, into another watery patch. Tracking them backwards, he found that they both appeared out of an expanse of shallow water, grassy tufts and mud that stretched some distance.
"There's water everywhere, covering the tracks," Illya said, trying not to let his dismay show.
"Okay," Napoleon's voice came after a pause. "Then… you're just going to have to use your senses to tell where it's safe to walk. If that other Sentinel could figure it out…"
That man, Illya thought but did not say, almost certainly learned the route from the previous 'smuggler king' and he from his own predecessor, going back to the middle ages. Then again, these peat bogs weren't exactly unchanging. No doubt each smuggler guide would have to find new ways after a winter freeze or spring flood. Cutting a long, sound branch from the sapling to use as a probe, Illya took a new look at the tufts of rushes and clumps of shrubbery visible above the water, in the direction from which his tracks emerged.
"You may have a point," Illya allowed, drawing a long breath and centering himself in the nature around him. He took another, not quite able to reach the calm awareness he wanted. He drew a third breath, then lifted the communicator again. "I… I think I will need you… to find my focus…"
"Of course," Napoleon's voice touched the center within him and helped Illya find it immediately. "Just listen to my voice, let your eyes relax, take in everything; let your ears take in everything. You already know what's significant; you'll recognise it when you see it."
One more breath and now Illya was where he wanted to be. He was part of the land around him now, sensing what the trees sensed, feeling through the souls of his shoes what the roots of the sedges and bushes felt. The rising dawn birdsong was no longer a cacophony, but a symphony of stories, as clear to read as the morning newspaper. Illya strode forward now, prodding the ground ahead with his stick, not as a test but a confirmation of what he was fairly sure he would find.
No sooner had he taken his first step into the shallow water, when Illya heard another voice in the avian symphony-an intruder which the other birds seemed not to notice. If they had, such a sound would have caused them to fall instantly silent, but Illya already knew that he was the only one who heard the hunting bird's cry. He lifted his eyes to find it and spotted the indicative silhouette in the upper branches of a half dead tree, just ahead.
"You still with me, Sentinel?" Napoleon paused in his monologue to check in.
"Very much with you," Illya said. "Both of us… I think. Please continue."
"Well alright," Napoleon said with a surprised chuckle. "I bet she'll lead the way, if you let her… or him."
"Her, I think," Illya said, "though I can't tell you why." He glanced up at the silhouette again and saw it take wing and fly a short distance, more or less in the direction he was going. Napoleon's voice over the communicator continued, holding Illya in the moment, letting him see the way ahead as clearly as if it were marked out in lights.
It was slow going nonetheless. Though Illya never stepped into any really deep patches, he frequently found mud deep enough to clutch at his feet and shoes, releasing them only with some effort on his part. Through it all, Illya could feel that he was making progress, every step bringing him closer to his Guide. So certain was he, and so pleased at his success at finding his way through the bog, Illya did not notice how his Guide's voice grew gradually weaker, and weaker.
It was as Illya was following his Spirit Animal with his eyes, watching it lift away from another tree branch, when, rather than gliding to another tree, she flew straight at Illya, flapping her striking black and white wings nearly in his face. He caught a glimpse of her head then as well, the distinctive black 'tear' marks on her face identifying her as a falcon, and stumbled back, giving a wordless shout in surprise.
"Illya? What's happening?" Suddenly, Illya heard the unsteadiness in his Guide's voice and felt a surge of anxiety.
"I'm fine… just my Animal Spirit getting my attention. Napoleon, are you alright?" Illya replied.
"I… may be losing more blood than is strictly healthy…" Napoleon admitted.
The surge of fear Illya had felt expanded, all his senses momentarily overwhelmed with a rush of terrible dread. "Napoleon… you idiot! Why didn't you say anything?"
"Didn't want to distract you…" Napoleon's voice was barely audible, as if admitting his plight had taken his last strength. The falcon's cry came once again, like a bell, crystallizing Illya's senses to razor sharpness. She flew and Illya leapt after her, casting his stick aside. She was the manifestation of all his senses; her direction the sum of all his reasoning; he needed no further considerations to make his way.
Feet landing too lightly for the mud to seize, Illya crossed the last stretch of swamp and plunged into the forest. Where he saw his falcon fly and light and fly again, Illya followed, dodging trees and scrambling over rocks. They came to the trail again in no time, and now Illya ran full out and his Spirit Animal soared. He saw her circling before he spotted the blind, but as soon as it came into view it also came in to range of his sense of smell.
The scent of blood permeated the air and Illya had the passing thought that the forest rangers were going to have to burn the blind down because no animal would ever come near it with such a taint. This was his Guide's blood that he was smelling, though, and Illya was filled with alarm, reaching out with his hearing to catch Napoleon's heartbeat. He found it, faint and unsteady as it was, and clung to it, as if his attention alone could support it.
Scrambling up the ladder into the blind, Illya found his Guide within, slumped against one wall and unmoving. There was something moving in the shadows of the blind, however, that Illya saw stretching up to lick his Guide's face. It was a lithe little creature, and it left off licking Napoleon's face as soon as it saw Illya, dashing up to him with urgent yipping sounds.
"I'm here now; I've got you," Illya said, gathering his Guide into his arms. He had no idea how much time had passed since he'd fired the flare gun, but dared not waste a minute getting Napoleon to a hospital. The floor of the blind was covered in blood and much had seeped between the floorboards to drip on the ground beneath.
Napoleon groaned quietly when Illya set him on the ground outside to tie another bandage over his thigh.
"I'm taking you back to town now, Napoleon," he said. "You've got to hang on till then."
"Horses… run off," Napoleon mumbled.
Now Illya glanced around to see the three sets of saddlebags with their severed straps on the ground, and the crushed vegetation where the horses had lain. The tranquilizers had worn off already, on account of the creatures' size, and they'd evidently fled. The two smugglers they'd caught were tied together to one of the legs of the blind, and they were still out.
"I'll manage," Illya said, pulling Napoleon's bandage tight.
"Can't leave the… bags," Napoleon protested as Illya lifted him again. "Too dangerous…"
It wasn't that Napoleon didn't have a point, and a little part of Illya was stridently insisting that this was just another example of how having a Guide complicated things, but Illya didn't care in the least. "They're not going anywhere and Agent Fischer is on her way," he said, well aware that leaving now might well constitute dereliction.
None of that mattered to Illya at the moment, however. Holding his Guide close, Illya set off down the trail at a light jog, pacing himself for a long run. The pace jostled Napoleon, who moaned and clutched weakly at Illya's shirt.
"Just hold on," Illya murmured without breaking his stride. "Just stay with me till I get you to help."
The rest of the journey down the trail passed in a blur for Illya, though it did seem that there were moments when he saw Napoleon's otter perched on his Guide's shoulder and licking his face. He was vaguely aware of his own Animal Spirit's nearby presence, sometimes flitting along above, sometimes swooping ahead, down the trail. The sky lightened as he went, from a dim, pearly grey to a pale blue shot with pink and gold. In this sharper light Illya spotted his falcon circling again, calling his attention to something down the trail.
Hope lightening his step, Illya jogged around the next bend to see, as he had hoped, Agent Fischer and her Guide, riding and leading a pair of saddled horses with them. They stopped and called out as soon as they saw Illya and his burden.
As briefly as he could, Illya reported on the situation, insisting that Napoleon could not keep himself on a horse, and that Agent Fischer and her husband had better go on ahead to secure the smugglers and their as yet unknown cargo. Agent Fischer took it all in without a blink, not even when Illya confessed to leaving the smugglers and their cargo behind.
"You know where the clinic is in town?" she asked, helping Illya manage Napoleon as he mounted one of the free horses. "They'll have enough blood plasma on hand to stabilize him once you get there, and an ambulance to get you to the hospital."
It was information that Illya appreciated and he told her so as he resettled Napoleon in his arms and urged his horse forward. The animal's loping canter jostled Napoleon painfully, but Illya help him close, kissing his brow and promising that the ride would be over soon.
Illya found the clinic without a single wrong turn once they'd entered the town, and much to his relief they seemed to know just how to handle distressed Sentinels and Guides. Not once did they try to separate Illya and Napoleon, and the bed they found for his Guide had a chair next to it for him. Several units of plasma later, Napoleon was considerably more alert and Illya profoundly more at ease.
"We'll be sending you both by ambulance to the main hospital in Regen in a little while," the on-duty nurse said. "Mr Solo seems to be recovering as expected, however, so I'd say you're mostly out of the woods."
Illya thanked her as she left them in privacy, feeling the state of heightened alarm and awareness slowly abate. Letting his eyes drift partially closed, Illya felt Napoleon squeeze his hand and murmur a question.
"Hey, Sentinel," he said, "is that yours?"
Illya followed his Guide's gaze to the top of his IV stand, and there perched Illya's falcon in all her splendor, preening herself casually. Following her gaze, Illya now spotted Napoleon's otter, draped across his feet and cleaning his whiskers.
"Must be," acknowledged Illya. "And is that yours?" He motioned toward the foot of the bed.
"You know it," Napoleon answered, managing to sound smug in spite of everything.
Illya was dismayed and yet resigned at how enamored he was, even of Napoleon's smugness, and knew himself to be hopelessly lost. "I suppose I do," he admitted with a smile.
~ ⇔ ~ ⇔ ~ ⇔ ~ ⇔ ~ ⇔ ~
Epilogue: ...unfinished business."