Lab Safety - Short(ish) Affair 27th July 2015

[otherhawk.livejournal.com]

Um, I checked the rules  and it doesn't technically say that you're not allowed more than one story per challenge. But then, this is far too long, so I guess I'm breaking the rules either way. It is Monday.

Prompt words - dilute, white


Lab Safety

"There is no need to rush, Dr Baitman," Illya pointed out, wincing slightly as the toxicologist banged the jars of chemicals together.

Baitman looked up at him unpleasantly. "Oh no? I thought you Section II boys were always in a rush? And I thought you wanted the chemicals in this device neutralised as soon as possible?"

He did; he'd been wanting to take the new THRUSH dispersal device apart to see just how it worked. That didn't mean he thought they shouldn't be taking reasonable precautions. "I just think we should be careful."

"Careful?" Baitman snorted. "With one of you apes wandering around here, dragging in God-knows-what from the field and expecting me to work on it at this time of night? Let me tell you, Dr Kuryakin, Dr Franklin might let you use this lab as you see fit, but if I had my way, you wouldn't be allowed within a mile of the place."

"As my office is only two storeys up, that would be most inconvenient," he said dryly. Then, as Dr Baitman took the experimental neutralising compound off the heat and moved it towards the panel on the THRUSH device, his eyes widened. "Wait!" he said, holding out a hand. "You will need to dilute that first!"

Dr Baitman looked at him scornfully. "You might know a couple of things about physics, Dr Kuryakin, but chemistry is my field." He poured the liquid directly into the chemical reservoir. Illya threw himself forwards, not in time to stop him, but at least in time to shove him to the ground and throw himself on top, sheltering him from the ensuing explosion.

As explosions went, it wasn't so big, but an instant later, the air was filled with a soft, white foam. He was on his feet before Baitman had finished swearing, sprinting across the room and sliding to smash his hand into the emergency button. A split second later, an alarm split the air and shutters slammed down across all the doors and vents. Whatever this was, this mix of THRUSH and UNCLE chemicals, it wasn't getting out of the lab.

He looked around the room quickly. Two scientists had been working in here, apart from him and Baitman. Thankfully they were all wearing masks and goggles....but the foam was falling on their bare skin and with every drop that hit, he could feel a strange sort of tingling. "Decontamination procedures," he said, his voice sounding strange even to his own ears. "Quickly." If he died in a stupid lab accident within headquarters, Napoleon would never let him hear the end of it. For some reason, the thought struck him as insanely funny, and he only managed to stifle his laugh with an effort.

Baitman was still sitting on the floor, gazing around himself vapidly. He looked ridiculous, Illya thought.

"Are we....poisoned?" Dr Montgomery said slowly. "Because I don't feel poisoned. Actually, I feel really good."

Yes. Really good about summed it up. He couldn't remember feeling this happy.

The foam swirled around in the air in front of him. It looked a little like snow. Absently, he pulled his mask off and opened his mouth, letting a little melt on his tongue. It sort of tasted like snow as well. If snow was fizzy.

The intercom suddenly blared into life, the buzzing voice harsh and unpleasant. With a sigh, he drew his gun and shot it, silencing it very neatly. That was better. Of course, they were still under surveillance. He'd always hated being watched. He looked round at the camera on the far wall, then theatrically covered his eyes with his left hand and shot the lens out. Then, just for fun, he switched hands and shot the other camera out with the gun in his left hand instead.

Dr Montgomery and Dr Ndebele both gave him a round of applause. "I didn't know you were ambidextrous," Montgomery remarked. "Did you know that people who are ambidextrous are more likely to develop schizophrenia?"

"It's not natural," Illya assured him. "KGB broke the fingers in my right hand so I'd have to learn." Normally that wasn't the sort of thing he shared. Normally, remembering that would make him miserable and angry. But right now, he didn't feel like anything could put a dent in his good mood.

"This is amazing," Baitman crowed, stumbling to his feet, his arms stretched wide.

Well, anything except that, perhaps. This whole thing was Baitman's fault, it hardly seemed fair that he got to share in this joyful experience. With an unholy giggle, Illya took careful aim, and shot a sleep dart directly into Baitman's posterior. The man went down with an undignified yelp and, just for good measure, Illya shot him a couple more times.

*

Eventually, security had triggered the decontamination procedures from outside and broken into the lab through the barricades he'd erected. They'd dragged out Baitman and the others, but they'd given Illya a wide berth - he wasn't sure if it was because of the gun in his hand or the experiments he'd set up across the floor, although certainly the first purple-hued explosion that the clumsy Section III agent had managed to trigger had seemed to spook them. At any rate, he'd decided to make a strategic retreat, and had gathered up all the interesting chemicals and equipment he could reach and retreated behind a new barricated between two work stations. He had work to do. Or fun. Definitely he was doing one or the other.

"Knock knock," a voice said from just outside his new den.

"Napoleon!" The smile spread across his face and hastily he pulled a piece of the barricade aside and dragged his friend inside, his arms wrapped warmly around Napoleon's neck "ты мой лучший друг"

"Right." Napoleon gazed at him, and his mouth was smiling but his eyes weren't. Gently, he removed Illya's arms. "Can we try English?"

"But English has all the wrong letters," he pouted.

"Still," Napoleon said firmly. "I'd prefer it."

"Very well." He sighed, put upon. "I just said you were my favouritest person." He frowned, that didn't sound quite right? "My most favourite?" he wondered. No. "My most favouritest," he decided at last. "You see? English is wrong." He wrapped his arms back around Napoleon firmly. Hopefully that would get his point across.

To his delight, this time Napoleon decided to return the hug. "Do you remember what happened to turn you into such a cheap date?" he asked.

"Not date," he protested with a roll of his eyes. "I am just so happy to see you. And yes - Baitman forgot to dilute his compound because he is an ass. So I shot him. In the ass." He giggled.

"I saw that," Napoleon told him with an audible grin. "He's going to be very angry with you when he wakes up, tovarisch. On the other hand, you're going to be very angry with him when you sober up, so I suppose that works out. Listen, Illya, we need to go to medical right now. They're analysed the contaminant from everyone's bloodstreams - "

" - I already did that," Illya said, pointing vaguely towards his notes. "I put a sample in the chemical analyser. It is not going to be a permanent effect - it is a change to brain chemistry that triggers a feeling of intense euphoria that will last some hours and then, likely be followed by a 'crash' of equally intense melancholy." He gazed at Napoleon earnestly. "I am not looking forward to that part."

"No," Napoleon agreed with a grimace. "Me neither." He picked up the notes and inspected them for a second then sighed. "Take these round to the Slavic languages translation department," he said resignedly to someone just outside the barricade. Illya pouted again - he hadn't realised anyone else was around. "Tell them to just...ignore the cartoons."

A thought suddenly occurred. "Why are you here?" he asked. "You left hours ago to have fun while I worked, so why are you working while I am having fun?"

"I was having fun, when I got a call saying you were armed, crazy and a danger to yourself and others," Napoleon told him. "I tried to say there was nothing new there, but they still sent me in to talk you down. Apparently they were worried that you had explosives."

"Nyet." He shook his head. "No explosives. Just things that explode."

"A fine distinction there, partner mine." Still with his arm around Illya's shoulders, Napoleon tried to guide him towards the exit. Which was unacceptably sneaky.

"Nyet," he said again. "I am fine here."

"No, we're going to medical," Napoleon said firmly.

He shook his head. "I do not want to go to medical, I want to go to commissary." Food sounded good right about now.

Napoleon studied him for a second. "Alright," he said at last. "Let's try some negotiation. You give me your gun, we leave the things that explode here, and we go to medical, but I get someone to go and get you whatever you want from the commissary. What do you want anyway?"

He thought for a second. "Cake," he said at last. "All the cake."

"All the cake," Napoleon repeated carefully. "Alright. Do we have a deal?"

There was something in his partner's voice that even through his current haze of happiness warned him that Napoleon's attempt at humouring him might just be coming to an end. Realistically, he supposed they couldn't just leave him this corner of the building forever...and the fact that he was capable of thinking that, suggested that the euphoria might be starting to wear off.
He nodded, handing over his gun. "All the cake," he emphasised.

"Of course," Napoleon agreed. "Just like I said."

He reached out and grabbed Napoleon's wrist. "And don't leave." He really wasn't looking forward to what came next.

Napoleon smiled at him comfortingly. "Of course not. After all, you're my most favouritest person too."

Comments

[otherhawk.livejournal.com]

Thanks! And that's a lovely sentiment.