#went to the botanical gardens today and then walked around a neighborhood i hadn't rlly been to before

[set-phasers-to-whump]

leave (stay)

prompt: "leave me alone"

whumpee: illya kuryakin

fandom: the man from uncle

hello here's another sickfic for my beloved illya :) it's sort of pre ship napoleon/illya sort of not idk. what is romance even. hope you enjoy!!

“Leave me alone,” Illya mumbles into his folded arms, before Napoleon has even said anything, before Illya has even so much as glanced up to discover who is behind him. (From the tone of his voice, it’s abundantly clear he knows it’s Napoleon, anyway).

“Well, good afternoon to you, too, Peril.”

Illya does not move an inch, does not reply. Napoleon does not bother to attempt to fight off the instinct to tease him. 

“Sleeping on the job?” 

It is rather odd to find Illya like this, head pillowed atop his arms and a half-complete mission report in the typewriter. It’s something that Napoleon has done on…say, a few occasions, but Illya? He’s far too much of a rule-follower for something like this. 

“Go away,” is the only response Napoleon gets, and, well, if he insists. 

It’s lunchtime, anyway. Napoleon grabs his jacket and heads out to the street, making his way directly to his favorite sandwich shop a block and a half away. 

He eats at a small table by the window, watching the people on the sidewalk hustle by. The holiday season is fast approaching, and already many of them are carrying large department-store bags, surely laden with gifts. 

He muses, idly, on the topic of holidays and whether UNCLE might host - or be open to hosting, upon his gentle suggestion - a party. He wonders whether Illya would be opposed to receiving a present. Probably. 

He barely makes it back to the office before his allotted lunch time is up. He bumps into Waverly in the hall, who says nothing, merely raises an eyebrow. 

Napoleon flashes him a grin and gets the barest hint of a smile in return. He’ll count that as a strong success. 

He is expecting to return to business as usual in the office, but he discovers that Illya has not moved in the time that he has been gone, or, if he has, he’s come right back to the position Napoleon had left him in. 

He must really be tired, Napoleon thinks. After all, he’s seen Illya take out five men in two minutes after not sleeping for three days. Now, even a simple mission report seems to be too much. 

He stands behind Illya for several seconds, hoping for some acknowledgment of his presence. But nothing happens. 

I’m asking for it, he thinks, but goes ahead and jostles Illya’s shoulder anyway. 

He expects Illya’s head to snap up, perhaps for a punch to be thrown his way, or, at the very least, some strong words. 

Instead, Illya slowly lifts his head and turns around, docile as anything. Weird. 

He blinks at Napoleon, rubs a hand across his eyes. 

“Were you actually asleep?” Napoleon asks, not quite willing to believe it. 

Illya’s face morphs into what could be very charitably deemed a glare. 

“No.”

“Somehow, I don’t believe you.”

Illya shrugs. “This is not my problem. Go away.”

Undeterred, Napoleon presses on. “What did you get up to last night, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Sleeping.” Illya looks away from him. He’s angry, which is understandable, but - well, now Napoleon is really curious. And a little worried, not that anyone needs to know. 

“Is something the matter?”

“Yes. You will not leave me alone.”

With this, Illya stands up. He is presumably going to stalk away and slam a door behind him. At least, this is what Napoleon expects.

But this is not what happens. Instead, as soon as Illya’s on his feet, he raises a hand to his head and then sinks right back down into his chair. 

Napoleon is now a lot worried, and no longer in a jovial mood. 

“What’s wrong?”

Illya does not say anything. He’s closed his eyes and he’s breathing very deeply and very deliberately. 

Napoleon has an idea. He takes a step into Illya’s space, reaches out a careful hand. Illya’s forehead and cheeks are hot beneath his palm. Ah. 

“You’re sick,” Napoleon says. 

Illya does not say anything, but Napoleon knows that he’s right. 

“For how long?”

Still nothing. 

“Okay, look. You simply can’t sleep here. It’s far too uncomfortable, and sooner or later, someone a lot less caring than me is going to come by and kick your chair.”

Illya opens his eyes a little. He looks exhausted, now that Napoleon really considers him. And miserable. It makes something in his chest feel as though it is being squeezed.

A solution enters his mind. It’s not ideal, but it’s better than nothing, and he knows Illya will not complain. “Come with me. When you’re feeling up to it.”

He waits for a few seconds before Illya very slowly pushes himself up. Napoleon wordlessly offers his arm, and Illya briefly grips it, closing his eyes. When the dizziness seems to have passed, he lets go and looks at Napoleon. 

“Right. Well. Follow me.”

They go to the break room. It’s a rather forlorn space - the UNCLE agents, by and large, either do not have time to use it or would rather spend their free time anywhere else. The room is dark and has no windows. There is a rather sad bookshelf, a table with two mismatched chairs, and a couch that Napoleon firmly refuses to sit on. 

But it’s a quiet space, and the couch is a better place to sleep than a desk. 

Illya takes it with no protest. He does not bother to undress even slightly, tie and jacket and shoes still on. His eyes slip closed almost immediately, and Napoleon allows himself the simple indulgence of staring at his partner, just for a few seconds. 

“I can feel you looking at me,” Illya mumbles, without opening his eyes.

“Sorry.”

He expects to be kicked out - needs to be, actually, so he can get back to his own work before someone realizes he’s not there. 

“Will you…” Illya mumbles, on the verge of falling asleep. 

“Yes?”

Tell me to leave. Please, ask me to stay. 

He doesn’t get an answer either way. Illya has already fallen asleep. 

He lingers a few seconds more. Wishes for a blanket to drape over Illya’s sleeping form, settles for his own jacket instead. 

He turns off the lights, pulls the door shut behind him. 

“Sleep well,” he whispers into the darkness, and then he gets back to work.

thanks for reading!!! love u all <3