Last time:
His brow furrowed in puzzlement as he tried to recall how he came to
be in this bed. His eyes snapped open in remembrance
just as a hand gripped his shoulder shaking him gently. Gazing up into
the concerned gray eyes of the man bending over him,
Illya's frown curved into a smile as he whispered, "Sergei."
oo000oo
"Hello, Illya." Gray eyes lit happily at Illya's whisper. "We have waited long for you to wake, moi druzh."
Gentle hands helped him sit up and he was grateful for the assistance. Every muscle protested the move, and he fought to hold back his gasp of pain. "How did you find me?"
"Like Pyerun of old, you found your own way here." Sergei laughed at
Illya's confusion. "Only the god of thunder could crash
into the hill where I live."
"Oh." Illya nodded with understanding. He looked around the small cabin,
noting the comforting touches of home. "You
moved again? The last time I saw you was near Vladivostok."
"We go from place to place, moving with the storms." Sergei met his look with another grin. "I have a surprise for you."
Illya stiffened. He knew Sergei well, and sometimes his old friend's
idea of a surprise was not always something he
appreciated. The other man stood and stretched, letting his hands touch
the low cabin ceiling. His warm, hand woven woolen
garments seemed more like what Illya remembered seeing in old pictures
from before the 20th century. The icon that hung at
his neck was still as fiery as it had been when they were children.
"No soldiers this time, Illya. If I had known they were not your friends,
I would have let them get lost in the storm." Sergei
looked saddened by the memory. "I have learned to be cautious since
then. No soldiers. No policia. No spetznatz. None of
your family, except the little one."
"Little one?" He allowed Sergei to pull him to his feet. For a long
moment, he wanted to disbelieve his ears. There was no
way Sergei could mean what Illya thought he meant.
"First, you eat." Sergei pushed him to the table. A moment later, he
place a bowl of stew in front of Illya. The younger man
looked up curiously. Where had Sergei gotten meat and all of these
vegetables? Not in any state run store. For a brief
moment, Illya thought the worst. Before he could ask, Sergei shook
his head. "Shh. Eat. I will explain later. Here you are safe, Pyerun. No
one will find you as long as the storm rages, and it will rage until you
are rested. The children and my Mokysha are sleeping. We have much to talk
about before they awaken."
Napoleon trudged down the road, wondering what he was doing. He was
in the middle of the Soviet Union, without any entry documentation or official
paperwork. He had no idea where he was, only that he was following Angelique's
car with the hope it lead into town. Any town. Where he could... no, he
couldn't call for backup or assistance. He wasn't officially on
U.N.C.L.E. business. And that hurt, but not quite as much as Illya's
reluctant departure had hurt.
As he pondered the facts he had in his possession, he realized he missed
Illya. Right about now, the cool Russian would be
making some sarcastic remark about his choice in women. Not that Angelique
was all that bad, she was just... misguided. Or
so he would argue with Illya.
It took Napoleon a long time to realize what was happening. He continued
his mental conversation with his partner as he
followed the dirt road. His coat was not made for a Russian winter.
As his core temperature began dropping, it was harder
for him to focus on his witty flirtations. His walk slowed as the winds
picked up. And as he slowed, his coordination failed.
Exhaustion, coupled with hypothermia, dragged at his ankles and brought
him to his knees.
"Napoleon!" Illya's voice made him stand. "Come on, it's only a little further."
Reluctantly, Napoleon turned to face the sound. He saw Illya trudging
away from him, leaving the road. He followed, wishing he had enough strength
to call out for help.
To be continued in Chapter 11