"Being Errol Flynn"~ for the Short Affair Monday July 13th

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

Challenge: The Short Affair

-Prompt Word #1 - Policy

-Prompt Colour – Purple

Title: “Being Errol Flynn”

Author: mrua7

Word Count: 997

Solo and Kuryakin were a team in the truest sense of the word. At times they found no need to say anything to each other; they just seemed to know what the other was thinking and would act accordingly.

Most paired agents seemed to develop that sort of rapport, but with these two it went beyond intuitiveness. Theirs was a deep friendship and not just a partnership..

Napoleon was the strategist,  often coming up with his plans by the seat of his pants; still, the man was brilliant.

Illya was the one who took those plans and ran with them. His was more a bull in a china shop approach.

While Napoleon’s bad habit was entangling himself with women, Kuryakin on the other hand often found himself entangled, through no fault of his own, with enemy agents. During which he had the bad habit of sarcastically mouthing off to his captors and making life more miserable for himself.

Thankfully, Napoleon would swoop in like the cavalry, coming to the rescue, however there were times their roles were reversed.

This was one of those times.

It was U.N.C.L.E. policy not to pay ransom for captive agents, and only if it did not interfere with a mission would an operative be encouraged to rescue his partner. However Alexander Waverly knew in the case of Solo, his new CEA, and Kuryakin... that rule was rarely adhered to, and he therefore turned a blind eye. Simply being the best afforded them that rare luxury that other agents weren't always given.

Illya peered down through an open the skylight in an abandoned warehouse where Napoleon Solo had been taken. Though Kuryakin’s presence there hadn’t been approved by Alexander Waverly, frankly he didn’t care.

What the Old Man didn’t know, wouldn’t aggravate him, that was Illya’s way of thinking. He was there to get his partner out of harm’s way and in this case, the mission to which he’d been assigned be damned.

He was supposed to be babysitting a THRUSH scientist who was defecting to the Command. The man was low-level and not really of importance. For that reason Illya deemed it acceptable to leave another agent working with him to guard their charge.

Not that he wished Dr. Shiller any harm; he deserved a pat on the back for trying to free himself from the influence of the Hierarchy, but his defection would do nothing to threaten them. In reality he’d be no loss to them at all.

It was for that reason the Soviet agent made his move.

As he watched below, observing Solo being slapped around while being interrogated. Napoleon’s capture was far more valuable to THRUSH than losing the good doctor to UNCLE, to say the least.

It would be a feather in the cap of anyone who could say they had the great Napoleon Solo as their prisoner, all trussed up and ready to deliver to the Council.

The left side of the American’s face was turning purple as bruises began to blossom. and there were trickles of blood coming from his nose and mouth.

“Easy there Carl, don’t damage the goods too much,” one of the goons blurted out. “We need him alive. He’s going to get us a major promotion and money, guaranteed.”

“You think so Murray? How many times has Solo been caught and THRUSH never wanted him anything but dead.”

“That was before he became Alexander Waverly’s heir. He knows more now, stuff the bosses would be happy to get their hands on, ya know.”

That was it; Illya couldn’t wait and risk Solo being delivered to the Council.

He lashed a rope to a nearby pipe, and tied a loop through the other end in which he could place his foot. When ready he would drop down through the skylight and effect Napoleon’s rescue...in theory. He’d never quite done anything like this before, but there was always a first, or last time.

Illya prepared himself, taking a deep breath; he put his foot in the loop and let himself drop. The effect was like the king of the jungle, swinging through the air on a vine, except without that ridiculous yell. No, perhaps it was more like that fellow in Robin Hood? He liked that image better, well except for the tights.

When Kuryakin swung over them, he released himself at the exact second when the momentum had reached its apex, and diving through the air; he landed on the two Thrushies.

They had the wind knocked out of them, having perfectly cushioned the agent’s fall. Illya was certain he heard a few bones snap, but at the moment that was immaterial. Though they were down for the count, he had mercy on them; darting each man.

He could of just shot them from the get go he supposed, but where was the fun in that?

“Doing your Tarzan imitation tovarisch?” Napoleon held up his hands to be untied.

“Think of it more like Errol Flynn. You have been duly rescued.”

“Couldn’t you have just darted them from wherever you were...where were you by the way?”

“On the roof. I came through the skylight, and as to my method; it worked did it not?”

“Lucky for you it did. You could have broken your neck.” Napoleon stood, rubbing his wrists. He gingerly touched his cheekbone, hissing at the tenderness.

“But I did not. So looks like no date for you with Ramona tonight,” Illya reached up, taking hold of Solo’s chin, slowly turning Napoleon’s face to get a better look at the injuries.

“Only if I were to go someplace public. Now if we stay at her place, we can eat in, enjoy each other’s company if you get my drift, while she ministers to her poor hurt Napoleon.”

They walked out of the warehouse side by side, as always.

“You have every angle covered, do you not?” Illya chuckled.

“Hey a good agent has to be prepared for any contingency,”Solo grinned. “Ow,” he held his face with his hand.

“You will not be very kissable Napoleon.”

“Yes, but she will,” he winked.

“You are incorrigible my friend.”

“Yes, Illya. Yes I am.”

Comments

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

Having been a competitive fencer at one time in my life; I wrote a few stories involving Illya, swords and tights.

One was a story called "Touché" https://www.fanfiction.net/s/8149188/1/Touché


Another takes place in New Orleans during Mardi Grsa and finds Illya dressed as Scaramouche (my favorite) and Napoleon as Jean Lafite, the French pirate and privateer, It was called "The Fat Tuesday Affair".https://www.fanfiction.net/s/7855521/1/The-Fat-Tuesday-Affair

Here's the link for the posting here in Section VII so you could see the 'illustrations" i.e. The Scaramouche outfit...Picture IK in that. Wink wink, nudge nudge... "D

Another fencing story though more serious and not adventurous is "La Belle" which is a term in fencing referred to as the 'beautiful point' which is a tie breaking point in a match. https://www.fanfiction.net/s/9822969/1/La-Belle