Jun. 10th, 2017
Napoleon looked across the cell as he and Illya lay there in the darkness. There were the barest slivers of light coming through the barred window, as it was a full moon.
His head was throbbing, along with innumerable muscles aching all courtesy of the continued beatings he’d been dealt by their THRUSH hosts.
They’d stopped using their truth serums on both agents a long time ago as they had no effect...built up resistance apparently.
Napoleon chuckled, it never occurred to them to change their formulas...lucky for he and Illya.
“You awake tovarisch?”
He heard a grunt in reply and decided to crawl over to the corner where Kuryakin had nestled himself.
As bad as Napoleon felt, once he got a good look at Illya, he knew the Russian had gotten the worst of it.
His face was crusted with dried blood, and both his eyes were swollen shut. That ever pouty lower lip was split.
Napoleon could only imagine what other damage had been done.
Why they did that, he didn’t know. Perhaps Kuryakin being slightly built made him a more vulnerable target in THRUSH’s eyes? Still, Napoleon had never met a tougher man that Illya Kuryakin. Despite that fact, he wasn’t so sure how much longer the two of them could last if the beatings continued.
Napoleon’s head turned in the darkness to the sound of their cell door creaking open.
“Here we go again buddy,” he whispered, giving Illya’s hand a squeeze of support. “Hang tough.”
“Good Lord mates, what did you do to piss off the Thrushies now, mouth back at them again Illya?”
Mark Slate couldn’t have been a more welcome sight, and he was flanked by two other agents, Kelly and Robbins.
“You are a sight for sore eyes...literally,”Illya finally spoke, though with difficulty.
“Cor mate, they did a number on you two didn’t they? Not to worry though, April’s taken care of them for you. Can you walk?”
“With a little help,” Napoleon slowly stood while helping Kuryakin to his feet. They each leaned on a helping shoulder and stepped from the darkness of their cell into a lit corridor.
At first the light hurt Solo’s eyes; Illya with his eyes nearly swollen shut had no need to shield them from the brightness as had Napoleon.
“Take it easy, we’ll have you out of here and under medical care in a jif,” Mark reassured them. “What did you do to warrant such a going over mates?”
“Nothing at all,” Napoleon said,” perhaps it was just because of who we are…”
“Or perhaps payback for the many times we have won and they have lost,” Illya mumbled.
Mark’s communicator chirped and he walked ahead while answering it.
“Enough palavering mates,” he said upon returning. “An ambulance is here to take you to hospital.”
“But…”Solo tried protesting.
“Not necessary,”Illya chimed in.
“Quiet you two. No arguments as I’m agent in charge and I say what goes here, got it,” Mark practically grinned.
“You’re enjoying this aren’t you?” Napoleon asked.
“Righto mate,” Slate winked.
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"Oh Napoleon, where have you gone?" Illya hadn't seen his partner since they parted ways in an attempt to throw off the chase by several THRUSH, each of them hoping the diversion would work in spite of the determination on the part of their pursuers. Napoleon had jumped a fence behind an ancient cottage, much to the surprise of the old woman who was hanging her wash to dry. Illya's own escape plans were thwarted as he dodged to avoid crashing into a young woman and her two little girls. They had appeared from nowhere, or so it seemed as their paths intersected in a narrow alley. Illya had no choice but to let them pass, allowing his pursuers to gain ground and, when the obstruction had passed, take aim at their prey.
Illya felt the bruising sting of a bullet as it passed through his thigh, missing bone but boring a hole that hadn't stopped providing a sieve for the blood he was losing. He was still slightly disbelieving at having lost the two men, but somehow he had managed it. Now he had temporary refuge among spent shocks of corn, yellowed with the passing of time and abandoned by a farmer who thought the field not worth clearing. Illya blended into the forest of stalks and weeds, his hair the color of cornsilk, a pair of tan corduroy jeans like the dirt on which he sat. It was dumb luck that he had found this spot, but so far luck was oozing away along with his supply of blood. He didn't have the strength to move on, and so he leaned against a pile of the dried up corn shocks and, like a scarecrow stripped of purpose, Illya gave in to the sun and his eventual demise.
Napoleon Solo lost the THRUSH who were chasing him, resting for the night in a barn conveniently empty and perfect for hiding out from one's enemies. In the morning he awoke and went in search of his partner.
When next Illya Kuryakin awoke, he saw not a blazing sun, but rather the face of his friend and partner. That was all he needed to see, and so he closed his eyes again, confident that all was well.
Click the pic to go to AO3. (I choose the picture especially for lindafishes8, which I was going to post on her birthday, but endued up with something more suitable).
Title: D is for Denmark
Author: Rose of Pollux
Word Count: ~470
Summary: In which Napoleon gets to fanboy over Hamlet in the actual castle in Elsinore.
Available at my DreamWidth or on AO3 if you prefer reading there.
Inspired by Robert Vaughn’s trip to Elsinore, where he did indeed fanboy over Hamlet.