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It starts off as a dull ache; annoying, but easy to ignore. He’s no stranger to the many adverse effects that come from not sleeping, but it doesn’t make sleep any easier to come by. The softest sound has the ability to wake him up and thus his sleep is often restless and the opposite of restorative, so he simply doesn’t sleep.
It’s beginning to bite him in the ass now. Their mission, which was supposed to be a simple extraction, is quickly turning into anything but. He’s certain it’s in large part due to his aching head. Its relentless pounding begs for attention and he longs to stop ignoring it and lie down but he also knows it’s nigh impossible at this juncture.
Behind him, Napoleon mutters a few curses as the safe he’s trying to crack is putting up a fight. He wants to tell him to just take the whole thing, it’s fine, they can open it later. He’s already gotten everything from the room that doesn’t require Napoleon’s incredibly specific skill set.
“Solo,” he hisses through his teeth, the sound rattling in his head, quiet though it was. “You can just bring it.”
It’s useless. The safe pops as soon as he closes his mouth, and Napoleon makes a show of slowly opening it to reveal millions of dollars worth of stolen bonds.
Napoleon shuts the safe, locks it, tucks it under one arm, and darts from the room.
It’s the first time Gaby’s reckless driving isn’t something he looks forward to. He thinks back to when they met and how he was, admittedly, impressed by the command she had on her vehicle. Now, though, he just wants to make it back to their safe house without throwing up on his partners.
As the drive goes on, he’s uncertain if he’ll make it that long.
The sun’s too-bright rays sear through his closed eyes, effectively turning his brain to something mushy and throbbing. The sensation rolls in his stomach as the car none too gently hits a pothole.
He slowly comes back to himself, wishing for something, anything to take the edge off. Something to relieve him of the suffocating, viselike pressure tormenting his skull. He can feel Napoleon’s occasional worried glance, though he tries his best to ignore it, knowing that whatever Cowboy is saying, or would say to him, would only serve to exacerbate the pressure.
The soft murmur of their voices, though, only barely reaches his ears, something more concerning than if they were being silent. He’s usually better at hiding ailments like these.
He’s always known Napoleon to be perceptive, but he’s never known how perceptive until now. Until his efforts are proven futile and he’s quite certain Napoleon’s telling Gaby to be quiet. He doesn’t quite know what to do with that picture.
He almost wishes Cowboy would start talking again, and pick his annoying chatter back up. Illya wasn’t even listening to him, not in the slightest, but the sound was better than silence. Not for the pounding in his head, of course, which was currently reveling in the lack of sound, though the nausea still remained.
No, he wishes for Solo's idle chatter because it would mean he doesn’t suspect there’s something wrong. Being incapacitated in front of him is simply not an option; he can’t have his partner see him like this, weak and vulnerable, because doesn’t that just go against everything Solo knows about him? Illya’s never known him to be silent for more than a minute and he knows it’s been longer than that, though his perception of time is skewed by the ache in his head.
In the safe house, his room is bathed in a quiet darkness. It doesn’t ease the pounding in his head, though it does give his eyes less to focus on.
He crawls into bed and lays on top of the covers, mildly surprised to find the curtains already drawn and a few painkillers placed on the bedside table. All that’s missing from the picture is a glass of water.
He has half a mind to take them dry, as he’s certain he knows how they got there, when the door creaks open. The noise isn’t enough to disturb his headache, but in an instant he knows his suspicions were correct.
“Peril?” Napoleon whispers, softly closing the door behind him and approaching Illya’s bedside. He’s relieved when Napoleon doesn’t instantly go to flick the light on.
“I didn’t know you were a nurse, Cowboy.”
“You should know that I am full of surprises.”
They’re still whispering. He wonders if Napoleon can sense the invisible yet vice-like grip on his skull. Somehow, he wouldn’t be surprised.
Napoleon wordlessly sets a glass of water on Illya’s bedside table. “I would recommend taking the pills with that, Peril. They tend to go down easier.” There’s a tension to his voice and movements that bely the suave exterior. He then strokes a few errant strands of hair from his face before turning to leave.
His gentle touch doesn’t do anything, not really, but it’s somehow still a welcome relief from the pain and he’s got a hold of Napoleon's wrist before he even knows what he’s doing.
“Stay?”
In the darkness of the room, he knows Napoleon's eyes are widening in shock, though he can’t actually see them.
“You- what?”
“Stay,” he repeats, though this time he is less certain.
He nods, slowly, then moves to the other side of the bed and climbs in beside Illya.
Now that he’s here, Illya doesn’t quite know what to do. Still, he takes comfort in the fact that he rarely has to have a plan where Napoleon is concerned. He seems to do it all on his own.
Which is how he finds himself sitting in between Napoleon’s legs, the back of his head pillowed comfortably against his chest.
His eyes are slitted in pleasure as Napoleon’s fingers expertly massage his temples. The pressure seems to abate at the gentle touch and he can’t help the tiny sigh that escapes his lips. He leans heavily back against Napoleon, allowing his eyes to fully close as he slips in and out of consciousness.
He knows Napoleon will be able to put him to sleep if he keeps this up, but at the moment it’s the most appealing thing. The pressure and pain have finally begun to ease and Napoleon is warm and solid behind him. His fingers are cool and soothing against his head and tender where they run through his hair. There’s no place he’d rather be.
When he next wakes, it’s to the feeling of Napoleon’s arms wrapped loosely around his torso. The weight of Napoleon’s head rests somewhat heavy atop his own, though the ache seems a thing of the past.