|Twinkles in their father's eyes
Author: Svetlanacat PM
You can observe the rules... or you can bend the rules. Sometimes, the end justifies the means. A Pandora's box story.Rated: Fiction T - English - Friendship - Words: 848 - Published: 06-07-10 - id: 6032491
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Napoleon Solo stared at his friend. Against the doctor's advice, in Peoria, he had insisted to take Illya back to New York. The legendary Solo's diplomacy had turned into cold authority : Uncle, reasons of state... Unspoken but... frightening threat...
« Your choice, Mr Solo. » Clear...
But he had been right... Lisa's story was... so amazing. Many things were still to be cleared, but... the main point was... in his pocket.
He ruffled the blond hair, and put his hand on Illya's forehead. No more fever. His breath was still shallow, but regular. New York... New York...
The Russian suddenly tossed and turned in bed. He was pale... less pale than before, although. Napoleon Solo grabbed his shoulders and tried to ease him.
-Illya ? Open your eyes. Look at me. Illya ? Rise and shine, partner...
The blue eyes opened. Solo released the shoulders, leaned over, and took hold of Illya's face.
-Illya ? Look at me.
The blue eyes wandered but eventually stared at him. The first real eye contact...
-Illya ? Do you know who I am ?
He felt the nod more than he saw it. He smiled broadly.
-Do you want some ice ?
He marvelled at the « Yes... » that his friend hissed, and obligingly rubbed his lips with the ice. The Russian averted his glaze. He was looking around.
-Do you know where we are, Illya ?
A slight nod, again.
-Please, tell me. Talk to me.
Not bad at all !
-Yes, Illya, yes. Napoleon... And we are... ?
-Unc... Uncle ?
-Yes, Illya, you deserve a reward. Some more ice ?
Illya Kuryakyn moved his arm, and raised his hand towards Solo's face. Napoleon took the hand and squeezed it.
-Yes, my friend ?
-You ... look older.
The Uncle Number one Section one nearly choked with laughter.
-Charming ! Just twelve years older, Illya. I would like to say the same about you... but ...
-How many years ?
-Twelve years, Illya.
-I... I would like to sleep, Napoleon... I ... I fell exhausted.
Liar. But Solo didn't insist. He dimmed the light and silently settled himself in the chair for the next hours.
-Napoleon... I don't need you here... Go home...
-Shhhh, Illya, shhhh...
As partners, Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakyn were expert in several matters... Bedside vigil, for example...
-Yes, Illya ?
-You are still here ?
Napoleon Solo was tempt to tease, but his friend's voice stopped him.
-Yes, Illya. I am here... As usual. I am always, for you.
Silence... He thought that the Russian had fallen asleep.
Silence. He was abashed... It wasn't a blame. Just an acknowledgement. Illya was fully awake. So... It was time.
-Would you like to tell me... about Sasha ? About Tonya ?
In the dim light, he saw his friend jerking back. He heard him choking. It was ... cruel, but he had to go on.
-Would you like to tell me about Elena ?
The long blond hairs flied when the Russian shook his head.
-They... They don't exist, Napoleon. They are... dream. Nightmare...
He reached to find his friend's shoulders, and held him tigh.
-Close your eyes, Illya, and... tell me about Sasha.
But he closed his eyes...
-Tell me. Tell me about your son, Illya.
-No, no, no... Please, don't do that, Napoleon.
-Shhh, easy, Illya, easy. Tell me about the boy...
He felt the body shaking, but he refused to give up.
-He... looks like me.
-He is blond, with blue eyes. He is seven...almost eight years old. He is so intelligent, brilliant...and he loves science, history, museum, languages... and ...
Napoleon Solo sat on the bed, side to side with the Russian, as slowly as he could, not to break the spell. Illya leaned against him.
-And Tonya. He loves Tonya very much.
-She is five...with blue eyes, too, but dark hairs, as Elena's. She... she smells pastry and strawberry... She is an extraordinary little girl.
-I guess she is... Your eyes, Elena's hai...
Napoleon Solo suddenly choked. A strong, powerful hand had grabbed his throat and squeezed it.
-What... what are you doing ? Who are you ? You ... you are not Napoleon... Napoleon is my friend... he would never be so cruel...
Solo easily wrenched himself free, and lit up. They looked at each other, eyes in eyes.
-I am Napoleon, Illya. And I am your friend.
-No ! You are not !
Napoleon Solo saw horror in his friend's look.
-Why, Napoleon ? You are deluding me ? You want to fool me ? Why ?
-SHUT UP ! There is no Sasha... They don't exist... They are illusions. Nothing more than illusions.
-Very real illusions, in your mind, Illya. You could draw them. Sasha, and Tonya.
The Russian curled into a ball. Pitilessly, Solo insisted.
-Illya ? Do you want drawing paper, and pencils ? You were a drawer... Do you remember ?
-Napoleon... please... don't do that...
-Or... perhaps... you'd prefer...
A dull voice asked.
-Prefer... what ?
-Something like a ... photo ?