section7mfu | Distress Signals - Short Affair 6/29 (Reply)

Prompts: crimson, hair
words: 1160 (slightly over)
Gen
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The woman at the counter seemed to be annoyed with the girl behind it; obviously the customer was having issues with the product she was being shown.

"I want crimson red, that's what I told you already. You must have something, some brand, that is truly crimson."

The girl looked frustrated with her irate customer. Crimson is red, and she had already shown the woman several shades of red lipstick.

"No, no… crimson red is different. It's… it's like blood red. Don't you have something that looks like blood?"

That did it. The cosmetics clerk took out every tray of lipstick inside the cabinet and put them down on top of the counter.

"Here, you see here all of the shades and all of the reds among the shades. Are any of these going to do the job?"

It was unseemly, would probably get her fired, but the girl had endured enough. Her supervisor thought so as well, and from the course of this conversation it was clear that her employee had done everything in her power to help this customer. Approaching the distressed girl, Mrs. Wagner, the department manager tried her hand at speaking with the troublesome customer.

"May I help you, miss? I am the manager, and perhaps you would prefer for me to select the color." It seemed reasonable, and for a moment the woman stopped her agitated behavior.

"I… I … It's crimson. The color I need is crimson, not rose or deep wine or … just crimson." Why was it so difficult to just give her the correct color? The nervousness returned, as though the clock were ticking against the task of obtaining a crimson colored lipstick.

Mrs. Wagner looked to her young employee and gave a signal indicating she should call for security. The woman at the counter was near to hysteria now, she needed to be removed from the sales floor.

From across the aisle two men appeared, one of them dark and immaculately attired in a smart looking suit that had not come off the rack. The other was smaller in stature, blond and decidedly European if his hair and turtleneck were to be trusted as fashion markers.

They spotted the woman at the cosmetics counter and moved towards her, not wishing to upset her. She had already caused some trouble by the looks of it, the other two women behind the counter had wary expressions that were highlighted by the array of pretty boxes and bottles surrounding them. One of them appeared to be trying to assuage in some way the emotions of their target.

Illya Kuryakin walked around the counter so that he would come upon this trio from the opposite side of his partner, Napoleon Solo. Two agents of the U.N.C.L.E., these men had been trailing this woman since she bolted from the storefront of a criminal organization currently being scrutinized by the Command. Looking at the woman now it was obvious she was in some sort of distress, and as Napoleon neared the counter he could hear her repeating 'crimson', a desperate plea rather than a shopper's request. Her hair was askew, no longer in the prim French Twist she had started out with. Strands of hair had become loose and hung haphazardly around her face. Her eyes were beginning to well with tears as her plea for the crimson lipstick went unanswered.

"Ma'am, we've shown you every color we have here, and the red shades are all…" The distraught woman whose search for crimson had brought her here suddenly shrieked as she sank to her knees, no longer able to withstand the terror of whatever had driven her here. Napoleon was there to catch her before she collapsed entirely, Illya close by as he motioned the other women away.

"Crimson, I only want crimson… They're going to kill me if I don't find it…" she continued to wail, an inconsolable cry over the elusive shade.

"Illya, we need to …" Kuryakin nodded knowingly and without being observed he shot the woman with a sleep dart. She collapsed into Napoleon's arms and he scooped her up, carrying her past the cosmetics counter, down the main aisle of the store and out onto the sidewalk. Illya was calling in their location, requesting a pick up in front of the big department store.

Two hours later April Dancer woke up in Medical, her head throbbing from the combination of drugs she had been subjected to. Her memory of the ordeal was sketchy, but in her mind she was certain the color red… No, not red. Crimson. She was sure that was important.

Mark Slate sat in a chair, his arm in a sling as a result of being shot trying to protect his partner. April had been abducted in spite of his efforts, interrogated with the use of truth serums and something else; the concoction that had her begging for crimson lipstick had been a trial version of something intended to be used against an entire population to create a type of hysteria that would respond to suggestion. April's task had been to find a crimson lipstick under threat of death should she fail.

Napoleon and Illya peeked in before entering, seeing that April was sitting up now and awake.

"Hello beautiful, how are you feeling?" Count on Solo to brighten up the day with a compliment.

"I'm pretty good … um, I think. Did I sort of go a little crazy? I seem to remember a scene inside Macy's." Her auburn hair was remarkably smooth now and Illya noted that she seemed none the worse for her ordeal. He was grateful for that and silently sighed at that realization.

"Did you shut down that place, those people? Was it THRUSH?" April's questions would all be answered, but for now it was enough to know that the thugs who doped her were out of business. They were small time, not part of THRUSH.

"Just get some rest and we'll fill you in on the entire operation once the doctors say you have clearance for light duty. Call us if you need anything." Napoleon leaned in and kissed her on the cheek while Mark observed from his chair. Illya merely nodded. He would speak to April later, in private, and she knew instinctively not to expect more from him right now.

Mark decided to join the other two men and stretch his legs a bit. The three walked in silence for awhile before the British agent finally spoke.

"I don't want to go through something like that again. If anything had happened to her…" He stopped short, the other two in silent agreement to his sentiments.

April would be fine, of that they were sure. Something made them each feel as though she needed protection, in spite of her abilities and talents as an agent. It was going to take time before these men could be cavalier about their feelings for the girl from UNCLE.