Warning: Exaggerating slightly OOC fanon stereotypes for the fun of it.


It was more than possible that the dank dungeon from whose crusty ceiling he had been shackled and dangled for the past 48 hours was more comfortable than the room in Medical in which he now found himself.

He bit the inside of his cheek in vain attempt to mitigate the pernicious itch beneath the roll of gauze that had been bundled around both his hands and wrists. In retrospect, flirting with the nurse so much that she had completely ceased to pay attention to what she was doing was a poor move. Alas, he wouldn't be wearing that new watch he had received from Aunt Amy for Christmas anytime. Illya wouldn't be too pleased to discovered that he, Napoleon, actually had a legitimate reason to foist the reports on him for once.

As if on cue, Napoleon's partner walked into the room. Illya carried a paper cup of water. Subconsciously recognizing the need on Napoleon's face, Illya gently tilted back the other man's head so he could take a sip. The front of Napoleon's cream-colored hospital gown, outlining the smoothly muscled torso, was still damp with Napoleon's initial attempt to drink a cup from two bulkily bandaged hands.

Napoleon turned to his partner, exhausted gratitude diffusing his gaze. "Thanks for being so handy."

Illya rolled his eyes. "They can't have damaged you too badly if you still consider that wordplay. I have a nasty feeling your awful puns will be keeping my hands tied as I find ways to silence you that your Thrush captors obviously haven't." He tutted at the veritable bundles wrapped around Napoleon's hands. "Or would you rather I leave you in the capable hands of your devoted fans among the nurses?"

Solo straightened up as much as he could in bed, envisioning the plush setup he had back in his apartment. "I'd rather they'd be hands off so I can be discharged earlier and go home."

Illya waved several all too familiar forms at him. "These are already signed. At the very least, you owe me dinner at de Vita's. No skimping on just three servings of the lasagna bolognese, either, and don't forget the cannoli." It went without saying as Napoleon had the order committed to memory as clearly as he did the latest security codes.

Napoleon cocked his head and squinted at the signatures. "I never cease to be amazed by your handiwork."

Illya's almost instantaneously rolled-up papers swatted at empty air, then connected with the side of Napoleon's head as it cautiously raised itself from underneath the covers. "Hands up!" Napoleon did as he was told. "OK, I get it! I'm taking you home right now from this flagrant mockery you're wrecking upon the English language."

Napoleon smirked to himself as Illya unceremoniously went outside and almost immediately returned with an official discharge wheelchair liberated from who knew where. Hands down, this was the fastest and most effective method yet of convincing his partner to release him from Medical as quickly as possible. And now he was going to enjoy Illya's unique silencing techniques...