![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
jantojones.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
section7mfuPart One Part Two
Napoleon’s attempts to navigate the tunnels were beginning to wear on his last nerve. He’d been walking around for thirty minutes before he finally found some signs of occupation. Sliding his gun from its holster, Napoleon edged towards what appeared to be a laboratory of some sort. Luckily for him, there were several nooks along the tunnel, so when the lab door opened he was able to conceal himself. A large man, with a bushy beard and a lab coat emerged from the room, but was stopped by a call from inside. A woman stepped out and handed him a file.
“Dr Dabree wants this file,” she told him. “She’s got her hands on that Russian UNCLE agent. This is his dossier.”
Solo could hardly believe the name he’d just heard. He’d felt sure they’d heard the last of her when she’d taken her tumble down the elevator shaft. If she had Illya, then it was a safe bet she would have revenge in her heart. Keeping his distance, Napoleon followed the bearded man.
……………………………………………………………………………..
Illya was shivering uncontrollably, not that he was fully cognisant of the reason. When Dabree had shot him full of the new truth serum he had fought hard against his bonds. After a while, realising that his mind was slipping, he had fought much harder. It didn’t take long for the hallucinations to begin.
Illya figured the reason he was cold was because he was out in the snow-laden woods without his jacket. His mother would give him a long telling off when he returned home.
“Where are you?” the doctor asked.
Illya heard the voice, and recognised it as his grandmother. He couldn’t see her at first, but then he saw her, sitting on a tree stump. She was facing away from him, but he knew it was her from her green woollen coat and red scarf.
“Babushka!” he cried.
Dabree didn’t understand Russian, but everyone knew the word Babushka. Kuryakin clearly thought she was his grandmother, and given how excited he sounded to see her, she knew she would be able to use the fact against him.
“How are you today, Illya?”
A small part of the captive agent’s mind wondered briefly why his babushka was speaking English, but the thought was soon lost.
“I’m cold,” he told her. “I forgot my coat and Mama won’t be happy.”
“Don’t worry, little one,” she soothed, stepping forward to stroke his head. “I’ll make you warm soon. Would you like to play a game?”
Illya nodded. He’d always loved playing games with his grandmother. With Mama and Papa being so busy, he and his sisters spent a lot of time with the older woman.
“Okay, let’s have a quiz.”
“What do I win?” Illya demanded.
“If you get a question right . . .”
The door opened suddenly, disrupting the flow. Dabree snapped round and confronted the man who had entered.
“What do you want, Murray?” she snapped. “I was starting to get somewhere.”
“I’m sorry, doctor,” the man replied. “I was told you needed the Kuryakin dossier.”
“Ded Moroz,” Illya breathed, clearly in awe of the man with the beard.
It wasn’t even New Year, yet there was no mistaking the gift-giver in his heavy, snowflake adorned coat. Dabree looked from Illya to the bearded lab tech with confusion.
“What is Ded Moroz?”
“I remember reading it somewhere,” Murray told her. “I think it means Grandfather Frost. He’s kinda like the Russian Santa Claus.”
“Perfect,” she replied, with a smile. “He already thinks I’m his grandmother, so having this ‘Ded Moroz’ could help move matters along quickly.”
Outside the room, out of sight, Napoleon watched while he formulated a rescue plan. He needed to get to Illya, but he also wanted to take Dabree alive, and take control of the facility. The first thing he would have to do is call for an assault team. That would mean leaving his partner in the hands of the mad woman a while longer, but it was unfortunately necessary. There was no chance of getting a communicator signal in the caves, so Napoleon was going to have to find a telephone; without getting himself caught.
Illya was staring in wonderment at the man who was talking to his Babushka. He couldn’t wait to get back to the village and tell his friends.
“So Illya, are you ready for the game?”
“Da.”
“If you get a question correct, Ded Moroz will give you a present. Would you like that?”
“Da, da, da!”
“When will Alexander Waverly be making his next trip?”
Illya frowned. From somewhere in the back of his mind, the vision of a gruff, pipe smoking Englishman presented itself, and something told him it would be wrong to say anything about him.
“Come now, Illya,” Dabree prompted. “You want a present don’t you?”
The Russian shook his head. “I’m not allowed to say, Babushka,”
“I’ll send Ded Moroz away then shall I?” the doctor threatened.
“NYET!”
“Then answer the question.”
“Mr Waverly is attending a conference in San Francisco in three days. He will arrive there at 9:30 am, local time. Can I have my gift please?”
“Soon, little one. After you answer another question.”
Illya gave her a look of consternation, but agreed.
“Did Napoleon Solo follow you here?”
“Napoleon is my friend,” he said, with pride. “Can he have a gift too, Ded Moroz?”
Dr Dabree was beginning to lose patience. Kuryakin was obviously very deep in the hallucination, but when it came to questions about U.N.C.L.E., he was clearly resisting. She couldn’t tell if he was naturally strong willed with regard to that subject, or whether he’d been conditioned to resist.
“Tell me what I want to know, and you can have all the presents to share with your friends.”
“Napoleon is. . . Napoleon is. . “
“Napoleon is behind you,” came the voice from the doorway.
Dabree and Murray both span around, but had no time to do anything else. Solo swiftly took them both down with a sleep darts.
“Are you okay, Tovarish?” he asked, as he released him. He felt icy to the touch.”
“What did you do to Babushka and Ded Moroz?”
Napoleon sighed, before explaining that they were very tired, and were having a nap. Illya seemed to accept that explanation, then asked Solo if he had a coat. The American found Illya’s clothes piled on floor and handed them to him. He also removed his own jacket and told the man to put it too. After tying the two unconscious people up, Napoleon turned his attention back to his partner. He’d heard enough to understand that Illya thought he was in a Russian forest, and was seemingly a child. Hopefully the effects of whatever had been given to him would wear off soon.
The U.NC.L.E. assault team arrived twenty-five minutes later, and quickly secured the facility. By that time, Illya was curled up on the floor, sleeping.
“Illya, it’s time to go home,” Napoleon called.
A great many Russian expletives were uttered as Illya sat up, clutching is head.
“Either I drank the world’s supply of vodka, or I was drugged again,” he moaned.
Glancing around the room he noticed the crumpled form Dr Dabree and a man he didn’t recognise.
“Drugs it is,” he murmured.
Accepting Napoleon’s help, Illya got to his feet, holding an arm out to keep his balance.
“Do you remember anything?” Solo asked.
“The last thing I can recall clearly, is calling you to tell you I couldn’t find the building,” he replied, groggily. “No doubt it will all come flooding back in my nightmares.”
“On the plus side, we have control of this facility, and the apparent means of producing a new truth serum.”
“Great,” Illya replied flatly. “Does that mean I can go home?”
“Certainly, Tovarisch,” Napoleon said, with a grin. “We’ll see if Ded Moroz has left anything for you.”
Illya shot him a puzzled glare, but Napoleon said nothing.
The End
Napoleon’s attempts to navigate the tunnels were beginning to wear on his last nerve. He’d been walking around for thirty minutes before he finally found some signs of occupation. Sliding his gun from its holster, Napoleon edged towards what appeared to be a laboratory of some sort. Luckily for him, there were several nooks along the tunnel, so when the lab door opened he was able to conceal himself. A large man, with a bushy beard and a lab coat emerged from the room, but was stopped by a call from inside. A woman stepped out and handed him a file.
“Dr Dabree wants this file,” she told him. “She’s got her hands on that Russian UNCLE agent. This is his dossier.”
Solo could hardly believe the name he’d just heard. He’d felt sure they’d heard the last of her when she’d taken her tumble down the elevator shaft. If she had Illya, then it was a safe bet she would have revenge in her heart. Keeping his distance, Napoleon followed the bearded man.
……………………………………………………………………………..
Illya was shivering uncontrollably, not that he was fully cognisant of the reason. When Dabree had shot him full of the new truth serum he had fought hard against his bonds. After a while, realising that his mind was slipping, he had fought much harder. It didn’t take long for the hallucinations to begin.
Illya figured the reason he was cold was because he was out in the snow-laden woods without his jacket. His mother would give him a long telling off when he returned home.
“Where are you?” the doctor asked.
Illya heard the voice, and recognised it as his grandmother. He couldn’t see her at first, but then he saw her, sitting on a tree stump. She was facing away from him, but he knew it was her from her green woollen coat and red scarf.
“Babushka!” he cried.
Dabree didn’t understand Russian, but everyone knew the word Babushka. Kuryakin clearly thought she was his grandmother, and given how excited he sounded to see her, she knew she would be able to use the fact against him.
“How are you today, Illya?”
A small part of the captive agent’s mind wondered briefly why his babushka was speaking English, but the thought was soon lost.
“I’m cold,” he told her. “I forgot my coat and Mama won’t be happy.”
“Don’t worry, little one,” she soothed, stepping forward to stroke his head. “I’ll make you warm soon. Would you like to play a game?”
Illya nodded. He’d always loved playing games with his grandmother. With Mama and Papa being so busy, he and his sisters spent a lot of time with the older woman.
“Okay, let’s have a quiz.”
“What do I win?” Illya demanded.
“If you get a question right . . .”
The door opened suddenly, disrupting the flow. Dabree snapped round and confronted the man who had entered.
“What do you want, Murray?” she snapped. “I was starting to get somewhere.”
“I’m sorry, doctor,” the man replied. “I was told you needed the Kuryakin dossier.”
“Ded Moroz,” Illya breathed, clearly in awe of the man with the beard.
It wasn’t even New Year, yet there was no mistaking the gift-giver in his heavy, snowflake adorned coat. Dabree looked from Illya to the bearded lab tech with confusion.
“What is Ded Moroz?”
“I remember reading it somewhere,” Murray told her. “I think it means Grandfather Frost. He’s kinda like the Russian Santa Claus.”
“Perfect,” she replied, with a smile. “He already thinks I’m his grandmother, so having this ‘Ded Moroz’ could help move matters along quickly.”
Outside the room, out of sight, Napoleon watched while he formulated a rescue plan. He needed to get to Illya, but he also wanted to take Dabree alive, and take control of the facility. The first thing he would have to do is call for an assault team. That would mean leaving his partner in the hands of the mad woman a while longer, but it was unfortunately necessary. There was no chance of getting a communicator signal in the caves, so Napoleon was going to have to find a telephone; without getting himself caught.
Illya was staring in wonderment at the man who was talking to his Babushka. He couldn’t wait to get back to the village and tell his friends.
“So Illya, are you ready for the game?”
“Da.”
“If you get a question correct, Ded Moroz will give you a present. Would you like that?”
“Da, da, da!”
“When will Alexander Waverly be making his next trip?”
Illya frowned. From somewhere in the back of his mind, the vision of a gruff, pipe smoking Englishman presented itself, and something told him it would be wrong to say anything about him.
“Come now, Illya,” Dabree prompted. “You want a present don’t you?”
The Russian shook his head. “I’m not allowed to say, Babushka,”
“I’ll send Ded Moroz away then shall I?” the doctor threatened.
“NYET!”
“Then answer the question.”
“Mr Waverly is attending a conference in San Francisco in three days. He will arrive there at 9:30 am, local time. Can I have my gift please?”
“Soon, little one. After you answer another question.”
Illya gave her a look of consternation, but agreed.
“Did Napoleon Solo follow you here?”
“Napoleon is my friend,” he said, with pride. “Can he have a gift too, Ded Moroz?”
Dr Dabree was beginning to lose patience. Kuryakin was obviously very deep in the hallucination, but when it came to questions about U.N.C.L.E., he was clearly resisting. She couldn’t tell if he was naturally strong willed with regard to that subject, or whether he’d been conditioned to resist.
“Tell me what I want to know, and you can have all the presents to share with your friends.”
“Napoleon is. . . Napoleon is. . “
“Napoleon is behind you,” came the voice from the doorway.
Dabree and Murray both span around, but had no time to do anything else. Solo swiftly took them both down with a sleep darts.
“Are you okay, Tovarish?” he asked, as he released him. He felt icy to the touch.”
“What did you do to Babushka and Ded Moroz?”
Napoleon sighed, before explaining that they were very tired, and were having a nap. Illya seemed to accept that explanation, then asked Solo if he had a coat. The American found Illya’s clothes piled on floor and handed them to him. He also removed his own jacket and told the man to put it too. After tying the two unconscious people up, Napoleon turned his attention back to his partner. He’d heard enough to understand that Illya thought he was in a Russian forest, and was seemingly a child. Hopefully the effects of whatever had been given to him would wear off soon.
The U.NC.L.E. assault team arrived twenty-five minutes later, and quickly secured the facility. By that time, Illya was curled up on the floor, sleeping.
“Illya, it’s time to go home,” Napoleon called.
A great many Russian expletives were uttered as Illya sat up, clutching is head.
“Either I drank the world’s supply of vodka, or I was drugged again,” he moaned.
Glancing around the room he noticed the crumpled form Dr Dabree and a man he didn’t recognise.
“Drugs it is,” he murmured.
Accepting Napoleon’s help, Illya got to his feet, holding an arm out to keep his balance.
“Do you remember anything?” Solo asked.
“The last thing I can recall clearly, is calling you to tell you I couldn’t find the building,” he replied, groggily. “No doubt it will all come flooding back in my nightmares.”
“On the plus side, we have control of this facility, and the apparent means of producing a new truth serum.”
“Great,” Illya replied flatly. “Does that mean I can go home?”
“Certainly, Tovarisch,” Napoleon said, with a grin. “We’ll see if Ded Moroz has left anything for you.”
Illya shot him a puzzled glare, but Napoleon said nothing.
The End
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2015-06-23 10:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-06-23 10:37 pm (UTC)The picture was the reason for leaving Illya naked last week. I'd already mentioned the hallucinogenic nature of the drug, so I figured making him cold would cause him to see elements of his home and culture. I'm glad it worked.
no subject
Date: 2015-06-23 11:07 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-06-24 07:48 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-06-23 10:38 pm (UTC)Illya believing he's a child? Priceless! Step aside, Napoleon. I'll nurse him back to health. :D
no subject
Date: 2015-06-24 07:49 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-06-23 10:48 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-06-24 07:50 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-06-23 11:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-06-24 07:50 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-06-24 05:38 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-06-24 07:52 am (UTC)