Feb. 15th, 2017

What If?

Feb. 15th, 2017 08:26 am
[identity profile] glennagirl.livejournal.com
As we continue down our slightly AU avenue, we're having some fun and stretching ourselves into new territories of imagination and characterization. Canon is what we're built on but it's good to see what might have happened if the elements were slightly rearranged.  So, having said that...
What if UNCLE HQ was in Los Angeles?  Do the agents look different, date different types of women? What do you do with a Russian when there's no Brighton Beach (aka Little Russia), for Illya to go to for respite from the Americans.  How does Napoleon live without his swanky NY penthouse?
Questions that need answers.  What will yours be?

what-if.jpg
[identity profile] mrua7.livejournal.com
(a triple drabble)

It was the day after Valentine’s day and Napoleon used his best covert skills to avoid detection within headquarters.


He made it to his office, having come in earlier than usual to avoid the female employees, most of whom didn’t arrive until 8 a.m.


His desk was filled with cards and even a vase or two containing a single red rose. He thought it odd there were no boxes of candies and he eyed Illya with suspicion.


“I know you like chocolate tovarisch, but did you take mine? No way I wasn’t gifted with any.”


“Excuse me?”


“Let’s just see.” Napoleon opened the bottom drawer of Illya’s desk and saw quite a few red heart shaped boxes of confections.


“Really Illya?”


“Those are mine. Delivered by a number of ladies here in headquarters.”


Napoleon harrumphed, thinking Kuryakin was lying.


“Stop being so petty, look in your desk and you will see just a few of many boxes of chocolates, as well as bottles of wine, home made cookies and more in our closet. So  much so that I decided it better to stow it as it was too much for your desktop.”


Solo opened his bottom drawer, spying it overflowing with goodies. “Well that’s more like it.”


Napoleon clicked his heels and gave a slight bow along with an apology.


“Next time do not jump to conclusions,” Illya said. He tossed a box of notecards to him.


“What’s this?”


“You need to write out thank you’s to the ladies, do you not?”


“Guess I better, wouldn’t want to ignore them; bad enough I didn’t do anything for them this year. What about you?”


“Mine are already done and sent out via the interoffice mail.”


“Clever Russian.”


“Spasibo,” Illya nodded before popping a dark chocolate covered cherry into his mouth.
[identity profile] alynwa.livejournal.com
“Napoleon, what is taking you so long to write your half of the mission report?  The entire affair did not take this long!”

“Well, Tovarisch, I’m thinking of the best way to word this; I want to make sure Mr. Waverly has all the information without giving him all the information.”

“What kind of doublespeak are you saying?  What does that even mean?”

Napoleon shrugged as he picked up his pencil again.  “Illya, do you really want me to write down what I had to do to you to get you out those bindings?”

“Take all the time you need.”
[identity profile] mrua7.livejournal.com
Prompt - In the Concrete Overcoat Affair, What if Pia and Napoleon had actually gotten married?

It all started when...well Napoleon at the moment couldn’t exactly remember where it all began. Oh yes, when he hid under the bed in Pia Monteri’s bedroom, and then her grandmother discovered him.


The girl was merely helping him when he was in trouble trying to escape from some Thrushies, and now here he was getting married to her. His presence in her boudoire had apparently sullied her reputation in the eyes of her family, even though nothing at all happened. That didn’t matter as no one would believe him, or Pia for that matter.


Now Napoleon, UNCLE agent extrodinaire, stood facing the girl who was dressed in a white wedding gown and veil, as well as a priest.  Pia’s grandmother had a shotgun in her hands and was aiming at her future grandson-in-law.


He couldn’t believe it; he was getting married? There was a sinking feeling in his stomach. What could he do? He was unarmed and surrounded by Pia’s entire family who were definitely packing guns.



Read more... )

[identity profile] jantojones.livejournal.com
These What If? Challenges certainly conform to the word challenge :-)

Prompt - In the Concrete Overcoat Affair, What if Pia and Napoleon had actually gotten married?

..................................................................

Napoleon attracted the attention of the barman and ordered his second whiskey.

“You don’t seem to be yourself today, Mr Solo,” Lenny commented, as he poured the drink. “Wanna talk about it?”

“Thanks, Lenny,” Napoleon replied, as he accepted the glass. “But talking isn’t going to sort this problem out.”

Read more... )
[identity profile] ssclassof56.livejournal.com
My (late) entry is the long-labored-over conclusion to Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang. Not surprisingly, it features Illya and Faustina.

I've posted it to the Map Room for mild het.

Our Long Love's Day
[identity profile] colonial-teapot.livejournal.com

This was the result of a drabble switch with Anamary Armygram.




Three different nurses plied him with homemade cookies; another tried it with cheesecake. He gave in to none of them. Mr. Waverly’s offer of one, then two weeks extra vacation fell on deaf ears. So did the earnest pleading of several secretaries.


But when one of the doctors assured him that the new nurse on staff, the aptly named Miss Troy, would be more than happy to go out with him that very night, he broke down and gave them the exact coordinates of the hideout where Illya had retreated to avoid his annual physical.


He expected his friend to be at least miffed at being given away. But Illya had clearly heard about the circumstances under which he had been sold out, because all he did upon returning to their joint office that afternoon was smile wearily.


“Not to worry, Napoleon. I likely would have done the same thing.”
[identity profile] jantojones.livejournal.com
The last person Nurse Maisie Redfearn expected to walk into medical, voluntarily, was Illya Kuryakin. He was moving with extreme care and with obvious discomfort.

“What can I do for you, Mr Kuryakin?” the nurse asked, resisting the temptation to make comment on his presence.

“I was on a stake-out among the trees in Central Park and had to answer an urgent call of nature.”

Maisie had to call on every ounce of her professionalism as Illya explained his problem.

“I was not aware that poison oak could be found in the city,” the Russian continued, gesturing to his groin.

.

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