His Own GoodbyeThis is a featured page

Written By: NappiFan

His Own Goodbye

Napoleon Solo raised his head and took a look around knowing he had a problem. He’d been out sailing all day and stopped for a few hours to climb some bluffs, clearing his head and letting go of the past two weeks. He was a social creature, to be sure, but few people knew that the time he spent alone, especially sailing, was just as precious to him. The sea nourished him. It always had.

As a kid, Napoleon had literally been raised on sailboats with his father or grandfather at the helm. He’d watched these strong men work the sails, read the winds, and weave their small vessel in symmetry with the vast ocean currents. How he loved their strong hands, and weathered faces! Sailing was just as natural to them as breathing.

The sea had the same calming effect on him as he grew into adulthood and began his career as an UNCLE agent. Somehow it erased the difficult events that often came with his job. Seeing people he cared about hurt….or worse. He remembered once being on a beach with his father where he’d happily dug an elaborate system of canals, bridges, lakes and ponds in the sand….delighted with his creation. He’d cried as the tide rose and waves swept it into unrecognizable lumps before erasing it all together. His father leaned into him and put an arm around his shoulder.

“Everything has a beginning and an end, Napoleon. Make peace with that and all is well.”

Yes, the ocean erased….ended things that needed to be let go of. He was glad to be in sight of great waters now.

He’d misjudged a step while climbing and a rock slipped out from under him sending him tumbling down maybe twenty feet or so. Silly, really. It was survivable of course, with maybe a bump on the head or bruises he’d be teased endlessly about later. But this time his fall was broken by a large sharp-edged rock and he’d felt his leg shatter underneath him. Napoleon looked to see part of his femur broken through the skin and blood hemorrhaging out his leg like a fountain. He knew without question a main artery had been severed and nothing was to be done about that. Something in him appreciated the simplicity of it.

Napoleon thought about the tracing device Waverly insisted he wear when sailing alone. His boss discouraged him from going but never forbade it. Napoleon looked down and activated the distress signal knowing full well it wouldn’t matter. They would come for him, of course. They always did.

He thought about his parents, his wife, Joan and of course Illya and Alexander. Treasured loved ones, all of them. Overall he was quite pleased with how he’d lived his life. Napoleon saw that his inner passions had truly been evident throughout his life; he’d lived the life he was meant to, and knew this with unwavering certainty. He believed in the greater good of the world despite all evidence and experience to the contrary. What he had done, mattered. He had served in the world. For this he was pleased.

He was infinitely thankful he would not die from violence at the hands of others. Not shot in a filthy alleyway or suffering through long, painful torture where the life was slowly pulled out of him, hatefully, by enemies. Though he had long accepted the necessity of brutality in his chosen profession, he nevertheless avoided it at all costs. Violence was a part of him, but not a part of his nature.

He laid his head back and sighed, closing his eyes and knowing he was slipping into shock due to blood loss. He felt no pain. This would not be so difficult. Eight years ago, Napoleon selected an Alfred Lord Tennyson poem for his mother’s headstone when she died from a stroke. She had loved Tennyson’s verse and they often read poetry together when he was small. It came back to him now and he smiled.

A loss forever new,
A void where heart on heart reposed,
Where warm hands pressed and closed,

Silence. What would this be? Napoleon believed neither in God nor that this would be his ending. Intuitively he felt he would go on in some way, maybe as some sort of spirit or energy. Right now, he was unconcerned about what that might be. He had no regrets and felt no need to seek forgiveness or make confessions. His conscience was clear. He was not afraid.

Opening his eyes and staring up at the sky, he knew exactly what to expect. He had watched life depart from others many times and was not disturbed by it. His breath came in quick shallow gasps now. Noisy wheezes. A lightheadedness enveloped him and made his vision swim. He blinked several times and then his deep, vibrant, brown eyes went vacant forever. Napoleon Solo was gone even before his body released a final, grave sigh.

He slipped all earthly bonds and went, in peace.

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Anonymous His own Goodbye 0 May 6 2011, 10:26 AM EDT by Anonymous
Thread started: May 6 2011, 10:26 AM EDT  Watch
Oh My! I have never cried so hard before. This is an absolutely stunning story. And as you mention the fact that it wasn't at the hands of an enemy made it that much more stirring.

"He was not afraid." Beautiful! Simple, touching, Napoleon. Bravo!

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