Just a little explanation first.

This was the product of a party game, I guess you could say. At a 
gathering of a dozen or so slash fen, cards with names, photos, and 
descriptions of various slash characters were brought out and 
everyone drew two. You then had 45 minutes to write a slash story 
with that pairing. I decided what the heck and edited my resulting 
story for posting. Don't expect great art 

------------------------------
Necessary Distractions
by Lianne Burwell
January 2000
------------------------------

Hospitals were a familiar setting for Napoleon Solo, although not as 
much in recent years. Ever since he and Illya had retired from 
active duty, they'd managed to stay somewhat... healthier. And then 
out of the blue, here they were again.

It was just supposed to be a conference. A *science* conference, for 
pity's sake. But a careless driver on icy streets had clipped Illya, 
and now his partner was in surgery. Again.

Napoleon sighed. This waiting always depressed him. The period where 
there was nothing to do and no one to tell you *exactly* what was 
going on. And worst of all, nothing to distract you from your own 
worries.

"Detective, I promise you. Your partner is in the best of hands. 
Now, how about you go get a cup of coffee. We'll call you when 
there's news."

Napoleon bristled at the nurse's patronizing tone, even though it 
wasn't aimed at him. The large man she was talking had the look of 
ex-military, as well as cop from the title she'd used. Telling a man 
like that not to worry was like telling him not to breathe.

As the pretty little red-head hurried off, the man turned and 
slammed his fist into a wall. Napoleon winced in sympathy.

Prompted by the urge to do something -- *anything* -- rather that 
just worry about his own partner, Napoleon headed over to the man 
who was in the same position as him.

"She has no idea what she's talking about, does she?"

The man wheeled, surprisingly light on his feet considering his 
height and build, and fixed him with an ice-blue stare. "I beg your 
pardon?" he said, jaw clenched. If he clenched it any tighter he was 
going to crack the enamel, Napoleon thought to himself.

"The nurse," he explained. "You need to have been a partner to 
understand."

The man stared at him for a moment, seeming to read everything about 
Napoleon from his dress, posture and other visual cues. Finally, he 
slumped again the wall. "Jim Ellison, Major Crimes," he said in a 
tired voice, holding out his hand.

"Napoleon Solo," he replied, shaking it. "UNCLE, retired."

Ellison's eyes went wide. "I've heard of your outfit," he said, a 
touch of suspicion in his voice. Solo smiled his most ingratiating 
smile.

"A lot of people have. So, can I buy you a cup of coffee, Detective 
Ellison?"

Ellison shook his head. "I should be here," he said, turning his 
head to stare at the door leading towards the operating theaters.

"She may have been insensitive, but she was right about one thing: 
Sitting here and worrying about our partners isn't going to do 
*either* of us any good." Ellison didn't say anything, but the 
question was obvious on his face. "My partner, Illya. Car accident. 
Ironic, really. It used to be gunshots and beatings. He always 
seemed to attract that sort of thing."

He was answered with a small chuckle. "Sounds like Sandburg. Every 
crazy in the state seems to gravitate to him."

"Yep, that's my Illya," Napoleon said fondly.

Ellison looked at him for a long moment, then pushed away from the 
wall, a small, almost shy smile appearing. Napoleon echoed it. 
"Coffee does sound good," Ellison admitted.

"Well, lead the way. This is one hospital that I *don't* know the 
way to the cafeteria."

>>>~~~<<<

One coffee turned into several as stories of "injury"-prone partners 
and wild cases were compared. Napoleon found himself warming to the 
young man greatly. They had a great deal in common.

And it didn't hurt that the man was *very* easy on the eyes of an 
old man.

After several hours, they returned to the waiting room outside 
surgery. There was still no word, and Ellison was starting to pace. 
If he got any more tense, he was going to come apart at the seams.

Finally, after the man had reduced a poor candy-striper who had 
simply asked if she could get him anything, Napoleon decided to step 
in. Spotting an empty examining room, he grabbed Ellison by the arm 
and dragged him into it. The head nurse nodded to him with a 
relieved expression, and Napoleon knew that they wouldn't be 
disturbed until there was word or the room was needed by someone 
else.

"Calm *down*, Detective," he snapped when Ellison jerked away from 
him. Napoleon shut the door and leaned back against it, trusting 
that Ellison wouldn't simply push him out of the way to get out.

"It's taking too long!"

"No it isn't," Napoleon said soothingly. "He's going to be fine. 
You, on the other hand, are going to have a stroke if you don't calm 
down."

"It's my fault he's in there. Damnit, he's just an academic!"

"And blowing a blood vessel isn't going to do him any good," 
Napoleon said sternly. As he spoke, he advanced on the man, 
projecting every bit of command persona born of thirty-odd years in 
law enforcement. Ellison backed up until a wall stopped him, chest 
heaving.

Very nice chest, Napoleon thought to himself and laid a hand on it, 
feeling how the man's heart was pounding. "Relax," he said softly. 
Ellison shook his head.

"I can't." This time the tone was more plaintive.

Napoleon's eyes narrowed as he considered his next move, flashing 
back to a time where he'd been in the same position, not long after 
he and Illya had become partners in *every* way, when the man had 
nearly been killed in a Thrush ambush. He'd been about to go to 
pieces, just like Ellison, and Mark Slate had been the one who 
calmed him down.

And unless he missed his guess, the same solution would work here. 
Napoleon reached up and pulled Ellison down for a forceful kiss. The 
resulting open-mouthed shock was perfect for that.

Taking advantage of that shock, Napoleon unzipped the man's pants 
and reached inside. Ellison still soft, but that was easily 
corrected.

"Wha..." Ellison started to say, but Napoleon cut him off, pumping 
steadily on the growing flesh.

"I'm just helping you to relax. Trust me. Close your eyes and 
pretend it's him." If Ellison and his partner weren't lovers, 
Napoleon would eat his silk tie.

Ellison stayed still for a moment, then his eyes slid shut and his 
hips started to move in time with the strokes. Napoleon nuzzled 
along the man's jaw, tasting salty sweat, and reached into his 
pocket for his handkerchief. When he felt the young man approaching 
climax, he moved the handkerchief to catch the resulting fluid.

"Blair!" Ellison moaned and came. All the tension drained out of him 
and he slowly slid down the wall.

Napoleon stared at the mess that had been his handkerchief and 
tossed it into the waste bin in corner. He wondered what the 
cleaning staff would think when they emptied it, but didn't much 
care.

"Better?" he asked.

Ellison opened his eyes, looking half-asleep and completely relaxed, 
and nodded.

There was a knock at the door and the man quickly got to his feet, 
zipping himself up and tucking in his shirt. The door opened and a 
nurse poked her head in cautiously.

"Detective Ellison? Mr. Sandburg is out of surgery. He's going to be 
fine."

Ellison breathed a deep sigh of relief and headed for the door. Then 
he turned. "Thank you," he said softly, then was gone.

"You're welcome," Napoleon told the space where Ellison had been and 
sat down. Now that he was alone again, his own worries returned, 
trying to overwhelm him. He steeled himself for battle.

Ten minutes later, there was another knock. "Mr. Solo? Mr. Kuryakin 
is in recovery and doing well. He's asleep, but if you'd like to see 
him..."

He smiled brightly at the young woman. "Thank you, I would," he 
said, getting up to follow her to the spot where he needed to be: at 
his love's side.


THE END