//Step 1: Stay as close as possible to the person you are protecting.//
Illya's eyes swept the room, looking for their mark. He kept himself virtually plastered to his partner's side all the while.
"Have you spotted him yet?" Napoleon whispered, lips brushing the shell of Illya's ear.
"No, and try not to be so obvious."
"As a spy or as your lover?"
"Shh!" He hissed, flushing. "You shouldn't be pegged as either."
"You're the one glued to my shoulder." Napoleon shrugged with a slight smile. "So far no one seems to have taken much of an interest in us, anyway."
Illya nodded, but didn't move so much as an inch away from his partner.
//Step 2: Keep your eyes peeled for anything out of the ordinary.//
The club scene was confusing-- a good place to go unnoticed, he supposed, since everyone else seemed to be trying for just the opposite. The two agents peered over dancers and past girls in cages and miniskirts.
Somewhere, someone was blowing bubbles. At least there was no smoke in the club. Too many distractions to any sense could be troublesome, and the coloured lights and pop music were grating enough. Illya sighed resignedly, wondering why anyone would choose to spend their hard-earned money-- with this crowd, more likely the parents' hard-earned money-- getting drunk on cheap alcohol and spasming to cover bands in this crowded, uncomfortable, and too-warm venue.
So far, however, he saw only slightly-tipsy college kids in go-go boots miming epileptic fits.
"This is dancing?" He snorted, scanning the crowd once more.
"I know." Napoleon winked. "If you're not holding your partner in your arms, what's the point?"
Illya managed not to blush this time. "Anyway, have you spotted him?"
//Step 3: Watch the hands.//
People turned towards the bar gave him a dozen false starts as they reached for their wallets to pay their tabs. Nothing paid off...
Unless...
There he was, just slipping in through the back door, his hand reaching into his jacket. Definitely *not* part of the regular crowd. It was a gun, then, it had to be.
//Step 4: Position yourself between whomever you are protecting and the weapon.//
Illya quickly shifted himself to stand between Napoleon and the man. So far, he hadn't drawn it, but it was obvious to the trained eye that he was fingering the gun. Illya nonchalantly crossed his arms, sliding his hand around the butt of his UNCLE special.
"Be ready for trouble, Napoleon." He whispered, watching out of the corner of his eye as he turned his head to reach his partner.
//Step 5: Attempt to place your chest in the line of fire (remember, you'll be wearing a bulletproof vest).//
Illya wondered briefly if tonight was not the best night to have agreed to test section eight's new field armour. It still felt too light to be as protective as the average bulletproof vest, and he hadn't had the chance to shoot the armoured dummy himself. As far as he'd been able to check, all of the lab tests were done at a far greater range than he had.
//Step 6: If you cannot put your chest in the line of fire, put your arm, leg, or shoulder in the line of fire.//
The man drew, and Illya angled his body as he drew his own gun, firing from under his left arm at almost the same instant as their adversary's bullet hit his shoulder.
//Step 7: Take the hit.//
"Illya!" Napoleon caught his partner as the smaller man was thrown by the force. He quickly glanced up to check on the assailant, but Illya had already dropped the man. "Illya, are you--?"
"Fine, Napoleon." He answered through gritted teeth. "And our friend?"
"You got him. He's not moving, but whether or not he's actually dead..."
"You'd better go check. I'll be all right."
Napoleon shook his head. "Our backup from outside heard the shots. They can take care of it from here on out. Let me--" He started to ease the Russian down to a semi-comfortable reclining position, but Illya struggled against him.
"No... too warm in here... Get me outside, Napoleon."
He nodded, walking his lover to the car and seeing that he got situated in the passenger's seat.
"Should I go back and get you something? A glass of water or a clean towel?"
"A towel?"
"To hold against that shoulder wound."
"No, no... I'll be fine, Napoleon, just take me home."
"Fat chance." He hopped over the backseat of the open convertible and climbed into the driver's seat. "It's medical for you, tovarishch."
Illya scowled. "That is hardly necessary."
"But necessary nonetheless." Napoleon countered, signalling to another agent as he pulled out of the lot. "Did you see him before he pulled that gun? Is that why you told me to be ready for trouble?"
"Only a little before."
"You didn't point him out to me." Napoleon frowned.
"I'll point him out next time."
"Don't do that anymore, okay?"
"Fine, I will not point him out next time."
"I mean, don't take hits for me. It's-- it's stupid and risky and you don't have to do it. I know how to take a bullet."
"You didn't see him."
"If you had pointed him out, I would have seen him."
"If I had pointed him out, he would have shot sooner. I needed to not arouse his suspicion."
Napoleon sighed. "Next time, Illya... you point the guy out and let me take my own hits. I-- it's not any easier for me, you know, to see you get hurt."
Illya nodded, swallowing. "I can't promise to let you get shot, you know. But I suppose I can promise to cut down on the stupid risks. Provided that you do the same, of course."
Napoleon chuckled softly in spite of himself. "No more taking bullets with your name on them, then."
Illya smiled, a little tightly, through the pain, and leaned back in his seat, reflecting. Maybe it was just a little romantic, in a very strange way, to always take the bullet with your partner's name on it.
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