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section7mfuPrompt - You're late again
.............................................................
Illya Kuryakin glanced at his watch. Napoleon would be arriving back in the states shortly, following an assignment in Europe. The Russian was looking forward to the American’s return, for no other reason than Napoleon had promised to made good on one of the dinners he owed him. Pushing that thought aside temporarily, Illya got back to the pile of paperwork his partner had left for him.
Ten minutes later, he was disturbed by Ellie from Communications. She burst into his office and stood in front of him, wringing her hands.
“What is wrong, Miss Christopher?”
“Oh, Mr Kuryakin,” she wailed. “It’s terrible. Napoleon is dead!”
Illya was instantly on his feet.
“Are you sure?” he demanded.
Death was an ever present danger in their line of work, but no one ever really imagined it would happen to them, or their partner.
“Tell me what happened,” he urged Ellie, as he guided the shaking woman to a chair.
“The plane he was booked onto has crashed,” she sobbed, before blowing her nose into a proffered handkerchief. “It went into the ocean.”
Illya shook his head. The usually pragmatic agent refusing to believe he had lost the only friend he’d ever truly trusted.
“Has anyone tried contacting him?”
“There’s no point . . .” Ellie began.
“No point?!” Illya yelled, cutting her off. “Surely you aren’t just accepting that he’s gone.”
“You don’t understand,” the woman shot back, cowering slightly from the angry man in front of her. “He lost his communicator while on assignment. The last contact we had was when he telephoned from the airport in Paris.”
“I need to see Waverly,” he murmured, before darting out of his office.
He returned a few seconds later. “Thank you, for letting me know, Miss Christopher,” he said to the distraught woman. “And I apologise for shouting at you.”
By now, news of the crash, and Napoleon’s demise, had spread around the building. No one attempted to stop Illya as he sprinted to Waverly’s office. To do so would have been almost suicidal. Even the Old Man’s last line of defence, Lisa Rogers, allowed the man to pass her unhindered. She knew her boss would be expecting him.
“Please take a seat, Mr Kuryakin,” Mr Waverly told him, as he gestured to one with his pipe.
“Is what I’ve been told correct, Sir?”
Waverly carefully looked as his Soviet agent. He had known from the beginning that Solo and Kuryakin would make a formidable team, but had often worried that their friendship would get in the way of their effectiveness. He’d been proved wrong numerous times, but seeing the fear on young man’s face had him wondering if may have lost two excellent agents. Oh, he had no doubt that Illya would still be able to his job, but was certain his edge would be lost without his partner to back him up.
“All we know is that the plane Mr Solo had told us he would be on has crashed into the ocean,” Waverly explained. “I have several people trying to ascertain whether he was actually on board.”
Illya was about to reply when the telephone on the desk rang. Waverly turned away as he answered it. He tried to listen in, but Mr Waverly kept is voice low. When he turned back, the agent noticed a change in the Old Man’s features. Mr Waverly wasn’t one for showing his emotions, but Illya couldn’t miss the look of relief in his eyes.
“It would seem that Mr Solo was distracted by a pretty face at the airport, and missed his flight.”
Illya couldn’t have held back his grin even if he had wanted to.
“I presume he’ll be taking a later flight.”
“He will,” Waverly confirmed. “And I think, this time, we can forgive his weaknesses.”
Both men, although saddened at the loss of the people who had been on the plane, were relieved they still had the CEA with them in this life.
The following day, Napoleon strolled into his office, and greeted his partner, happily.
“You’re late again,” Illya scolded, though his smile negated the harshness of the words. “And you still owe me dinner.”
.
.............................................................
Illya Kuryakin glanced at his watch. Napoleon would be arriving back in the states shortly, following an assignment in Europe. The Russian was looking forward to the American’s return, for no other reason than Napoleon had promised to made good on one of the dinners he owed him. Pushing that thought aside temporarily, Illya got back to the pile of paperwork his partner had left for him.
Ten minutes later, he was disturbed by Ellie from Communications. She burst into his office and stood in front of him, wringing her hands.
“What is wrong, Miss Christopher?”
“Oh, Mr Kuryakin,” she wailed. “It’s terrible. Napoleon is dead!”
Illya was instantly on his feet.
“Are you sure?” he demanded.
Death was an ever present danger in their line of work, but no one ever really imagined it would happen to them, or their partner.
“Tell me what happened,” he urged Ellie, as he guided the shaking woman to a chair.
“The plane he was booked onto has crashed,” she sobbed, before blowing her nose into a proffered handkerchief. “It went into the ocean.”
Illya shook his head. The usually pragmatic agent refusing to believe he had lost the only friend he’d ever truly trusted.
“Has anyone tried contacting him?”
“There’s no point . . .” Ellie began.
“No point?!” Illya yelled, cutting her off. “Surely you aren’t just accepting that he’s gone.”
“You don’t understand,” the woman shot back, cowering slightly from the angry man in front of her. “He lost his communicator while on assignment. The last contact we had was when he telephoned from the airport in Paris.”
“I need to see Waverly,” he murmured, before darting out of his office.
He returned a few seconds later. “Thank you, for letting me know, Miss Christopher,” he said to the distraught woman. “And I apologise for shouting at you.”
By now, news of the crash, and Napoleon’s demise, had spread around the building. No one attempted to stop Illya as he sprinted to Waverly’s office. To do so would have been almost suicidal. Even the Old Man’s last line of defence, Lisa Rogers, allowed the man to pass her unhindered. She knew her boss would be expecting him.
“Please take a seat, Mr Kuryakin,” Mr Waverly told him, as he gestured to one with his pipe.
“Is what I’ve been told correct, Sir?”
Waverly carefully looked as his Soviet agent. He had known from the beginning that Solo and Kuryakin would make a formidable team, but had often worried that their friendship would get in the way of their effectiveness. He’d been proved wrong numerous times, but seeing the fear on young man’s face had him wondering if may have lost two excellent agents. Oh, he had no doubt that Illya would still be able to his job, but was certain his edge would be lost without his partner to back him up.
“All we know is that the plane Mr Solo had told us he would be on has crashed into the ocean,” Waverly explained. “I have several people trying to ascertain whether he was actually on board.”
Illya was about to reply when the telephone on the desk rang. Waverly turned away as he answered it. He tried to listen in, but Mr Waverly kept is voice low. When he turned back, the agent noticed a change in the Old Man’s features. Mr Waverly wasn’t one for showing his emotions, but Illya couldn’t miss the look of relief in his eyes.
“It would seem that Mr Solo was distracted by a pretty face at the airport, and missed his flight.”
Illya couldn’t have held back his grin even if he had wanted to.
“I presume he’ll be taking a later flight.”
“He will,” Waverly confirmed. “And I think, this time, we can forgive his weaknesses.”
Both men, although saddened at the loss of the people who had been on the plane, were relieved they still had the CEA with them in this life.
The following day, Napoleon strolled into his office, and greeted his partner, happily.
“You’re late again,” Illya scolded, though his smile negated the harshness of the words. “And you still owe me dinner.”
.
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Date: 2015-08-28 05:22 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-08-28 05:35 pm (UTC)