The one who stayed and the one who left-My unfinished Napollya fic for @bryonyashley (a rough update of the next chapter as I still need to work on it, lol)
As the wind changes direction, the sudden driving rain pounds the window, reducing visibility further. Napoleon thinks it could not get any worse when the engine suddenly gives an ominous wheeze and the propeller slows, gains speed, then stops.
“The engine,” Napoleon sighs as Illya tries to restart it.
“We will have to glide it down, Cowboy, as long as there's somewhere to land,” Illya says quietly, checking their altitude and looking out the side window. Even if he tries his best to stay calm, Napoleon still could sense that isn’t case.
“Over there is our best shot,” Napoleon says after a while, as he points to his side.
Illya sees a stretch of narrow, flat land. It will have to do.
“We’ll make it,” Illya replies, peering over Napoleon's shoulder as he turns the plane. “but it'll still be rough landing, Cowboy.”
“Do what you need to do,” Napoleon nods.
As the plane slowly loses height, the dull shine of what appears to be a lake which he failed to notice earlier, spreads out before them, barely visible as the rain continues to pelt the windscreen. Napoleon watches the dark forms of trees below them, disturbingly close as the plane shudders against the punishing wind.
For a moment Napoleon feels an eerie calm, then the world explods around them. A howling wind, a stomach-lurching dive, a screeching metallic sound, and the scent of pine needles fills the cabin. Cold air pools around the floor of the plane as Napoleon slowly becomes aware of what’a happening. Illya struggles to keep the plane level, but there is another thump and wrenching sound as part of a wing shears off, almost turning them around. Then they are clear of the trees, but plunging fast and steep.
Napoleon gasps and struggles not to black out as Illya puts one arm across his body, bracing him as the plane slaps across the water.
“We were supposed to land on the ground, Peril!” he shouts, struggling to focus as something dark looms up ahead and the plane slams to a stop and Illya's urgent voice is in his ear. He shakes his head to clear his mind, opens the door and flops like a fish onto a jetty. Quickly rolling clear as the jagged metal of the wing slices by him, he turns to see the plane lurching over and slide into the water.
They are by the side of the lake. Not surprisingly, Napoleon cannot remember how they had got there. Illya must have swam them ashore. It’s a miracle they are even alive.
He stretches out a hand as Illya tries to reach out for him. “I thought I'd lost you for a minute.”
Illya pulls himself up and lay down on the ground beside Napoleon, heaving deep breaths. “Not so easy to get rid of me.”
Napoleon smirks then holds up one hand to the pouring rain and laughs for a moment, before turning serious, “we need to move.”
“Anything?” Napoleon asks Illya again as his friend frantically tries to contact UNCLE.
“Comms are dead,” the Russian mutters.“What is your best guess on our coordinates?”
“We can’t be more than forty minutes south-west of our destination,” Napoleon answers and when he turns to move, Illya notices he is bleeding through his right shirt sleeve. “You are hurt.”
He reaches out to check on his injured arm but Napoleon pulls back before Illya could touch him.
“I’m fine,” Napoleon immediately dismisses his concern. “Okay, we still have eight hours until our meeting with our mark. Which means on foot, we’re going to miss our window.”
Suddenly, distant engines are heard.
“That’s not good,” Napoleon says.
“THRUSH,” Illya affirmed.
They both turn and start to take whatever they could from what Illya had managed to salvage from the plane before making a dash through the hilly forest. Moments later they could see two trucks heading their way.
“They are going to see us, we’ve to move, Cowboy.”
“I think we’re clear,” Illya confirms after a while.
They stop to take a breather. But Illya has not forgotten Napoleon’s injured arm and insists that he takes a look. Napoleon gives in this time and let’s Illya roll the torn sleeves up, so he could check on his wound. Illya sucks in a breath at what he sees. He knows the wound needs to be cleaned up and tended to. But there’s no time. A makeshift bandage from Napoleon’s torn jacket would have to do. And while he works on it with hands that are too gentle, Napoleon feels a tug inside his chest. Sensing that he’s being watched, Illya tears at the cloth around Napoleon’s arm abruptly, making his partner winced.
“That’s for your behaviour on the plane.”
Napoleon would argue but he keeps his mouth shut.
They walk for miles after and then the silence between them starts to get a little hard for Napoleon to take. “Listen, earlier, on the plane…”
“It’s okay. Forget it, Cowboy.”
“It’s the only thing I could count on, the way it felt to be with you. How easy it was to work together. But now, that’s all gone.”
“How are we supposed to get along? To be just friends again? You’re right, Illya. It’s damn right ridiculous. And after what you now know? It’s practically impossible.”
Illya narrows his eyes. This man in front of him will be the death of him, he’s sure. But he can’t keep on pretending that everything will be okay. Because it would not. Even if he wants to push Napoleon away, even if he knows that is the right thing to do, Illya could not. Death had stared them in the face and Illya doesn’t want to lose the chance of telling Napolen how he feels. Again.
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