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Round
Robin: Hobson's Choice Affair |
Kuryakin's body began to tremble and the telltale dizziness
of shock overwhelmed him. "Jessie", he murmured as the blackness took him.
----------
Napoleon Solo caught the battered body as it fell and lifted it with adrenalin
fueled strength.
"Take him to The Room, Lee", Helen ordered.
Napoleon obeyed, maneuvring down a narrow corridor toward the rear of the
apartment, making a sharp left, to end up at what seemed like a regular bedroom
door. Balancing his burden with care, he punched in a code known only to very
few. The door slid open and Solo entered the fully equipped hospital room.
Napoleon chuckled as he laid the blond on the bed. He knew this room intimately
having, more often than not, slept off the consequences of 'too much partying'.
The door slid open interrupting his musings. "Okay, Lee, out and get some
rest. I'll take over from here", Helen ordered. taking in his haggard appearance.
Napoleon stood his ground. "I'd like to stay. I am, after all, a witness",
he replied, in a tone that brooked no argument.
Helen nodded She had known Napoleon since childhood, knew that stubborn streak.
"Fine. Go sit down somewhere before I have two patients", she retorting. She
could give as good as she got.
Napoleon gave her a withering look, moved to the opposite side of the bed
and sat.
"Lee!", she hissed in mock exasperation.
"Well, you didn't say WHERE", he murmured.
----------
Kuryakin slowly climbed the stairs from darkness to consciousness. After what
seemed an eternity, he reached the summit and tried to move. Immediately regretted
the idea as white-hot pain lanced through his bandaged ribs. Despite his best
efforts, a moan escaped his lips.
"Easy", ordered a gentle voice.
Kuryakin forced his eyes open and met the concerned stare of warm brown ones.
"Are you in pain? Do you want me to get Dr. Harrison?", the man asked.
Taking a deep breathe Kuryakin once again tried to sit up. The man noticed
his struggling and, with strong, capable hands assisted him until he was settled,
comfortably, against the pillows. What he beheld made all the pain he'd ever
suffered deem worthy.
It wasn't the dark Italian beauty of the man, nor the thick waves of brown
hair, not even the sexy cleft in the strong chin. No. It was the eyes - dark,
chocolate depths that seemed to pierce his very soul. Instantly, Kuryakin
slammed his emotional barriers into place; UNCLE training took over. "Who
are you?", he demanded.
The handsome man smiled. "Napoleon Solo", he replied, giving a slight nod
of his head in greeting. "I'm one of the good guys", he added as an afterthought.
Kuryakin regarded him with deepening suspicious - not so much out of habit
but as a result of that smile. **Should be registered as a lethal weapon!**
"Indeed?", he challenged.
"Yup. I'm the one who brought you here."
"I see. Might I ask where I am?"
"You're in the private hospital room in the apartment of Dr. Helen Harrison.
She is a friend of mine."
For the first time Kuryakin took in the man's dress: the dangling bow tie,
the wrinkled ruffled dress shirt and pants, a tuxedo jacket hung on the nearby
chair. All spoke of wealth and power. Capitalism. **If she is pretty, I'm
certain she is!** Suddenly a door opened in his memory. "You are the one who
knew about Grosvenor."
Solo nodded. "Yes. I know other things, as well."
**Ah! Now I have you...!** "Indeed. Am I to understand you wish to blackmail
me?"
Solo chuckled, a deep, rich sound. "You understand wrong, my friend. Grosvenor
mentioned it before he died. Not much time for great detail..."
An insistent bleeping prevented Kuryakin from answering. He recognized it
as the signal from his communicator but said nothing. Instead he watched,
with growing amusement, as Solo grabbed his jacket and produced the device.
"What the hell is this thing?", he demanded. "Are you some kind of spy?"
Kuryakin allowed himself a tiny smile. A rarity for him. The question was
common enough among civilians. "To answer your first question, that is a communications
device and, to answer you second, Something like that. By the way, how long
have I been here?"
Napoleon Solo grinned. He recognized a 'Mind you own business' question when
he heard it. "Twelve hours."
"Damn!!", Kuryakin swore. "Waverly will have my head!"
Solo looked at his companion, puzzled. "Waverly?"
"My boss."
"Ah. Would you like to use the phone to contact him?"
Kuryakin sighed. "Too much of a risk. I need that device and privacy."
Solo shook his head. "No can do. Helen threatened to kill me if I didn't take
care of you."
"Oh? Are you her assistant, then?"
"No." Simple and to the point.
"Mr. Solo....", Kuryakin began.
Solo held up his hand to interrupt. "Please, drop the 'Mr. Solo'. You make
me feel like my grandfather. My friends call me Napoleon."
"I stand corrected but I am curious. Do you often consider people you've just
met 'friends'?"
Once again Solo smiled. "No. I am, however, very selective."
Kuryakin shook himself to escape the effect that smile, and those eyes, were
beginning to have on him. **Careful, Illya Nickovetch...** he chided himself.
"As I was about to say, Mis... Napoleon, what you came upon has put your life,
and that of Dr. Harrison, in grave danger."
Solo's smile widened. "I've taken care of myself for most of my life. Make
your call."
The arrogance of the man angered Kuryakin but he fought to control his temper,
reminding himself this man possibly helped save his life.. "I am certain you
have, Mister Solo, but this is not a game; not a, how do you American's say....."
"Lark", Solo supplied.
"Da."
"If your boss is anything like my father, I'd stop worrying about me and make
that call", Napoleon suggested, the stubbornness in his voice evident.
Illya sighed. He despised arrogance, especially in this man. He's hoped, for
some strange reason, that Napoleon Solo would be different. He should have
known better. "Very well", he replied and activated a tiny switch on the device.
"Open Channel D", he ordered.
The response was immediate. "Waverly here. It is good to hear your voice,
Mr. Kuryakin. Report."
"I was attacked, sir. Grosvenor is dead."
There was a momentary silence; then. "Your status?"
"I am safe, sir; thanks to the courage of a pair of good Samaritans."
"Excellent. Injuries?"
Once again Illya was prevented from answering as the door imploded with a
deafening roar.
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