Oops (Redux)

[jantojones.livejournal.com]

I borrowed (completely stole) a leaf from mrua7's book, and went back to an earlier fic and tweaked it. This was the first Picfic I ever did, back when I had no idea what I was doing. To be honest, I still don't. The story is now about 120 words longer, but is still quite short. Hope you enjoy it.

...................................................................................



As he served the meals to the passengers in the train's dining car, Illya wondered, yet again, why it was he who had the service industry role. Napoleon had once explained that his own look was too sophisticated, to which Illya had grouchily replied, 'That's what disguises are for'. It had taken every ounce of his will power not to react when Napoleon had told him it was a more natural position for a scruffy foreigner. Solo hadn’t meant it seriously, of course, but he enjoyed teasing his oft too serious colleague.

Illya’s brown haired waiter disguise was to ensure he could get close to the male and the female THRUSH agents at the corner table. He'd already approached them once to take their order, using it as a test to make certain he wasn’t known to them. He was planning on using the delivery of their food to get a microphone under the table. His strategy was to utilise the tried and tested 'drop something and stoop to pick it up' ploy.

Half way down the carriage, Illya reached the table at which his partner had positioned himself. On the seat beside Solo was an innocent looking briefcase. Secreted within was a tape recorder, waiting for the activation of the microphone.

"Ah, Garcon," Napoleon enthused with unnecessary gusto, as Illya handed him his poached salmon. "This looks absolutely superb."

Dramatically flourishing his fork, Solo made a great play of taking the first mouthful, knowing that Illya would be in his usual state of hunger.

“Do you require anything else, Sir?” Kuryakin queried through practically clenched teeth.

Napoleon held up a finger in a ‘one moment’ gesture, and spent an almost ridiculous amount of time chewing his first forkful. Upon swallowing the fish, he dabbed at his mouth with his napkin.

“Simply sublime,” he commented. “I don’t need anything else, thank you.”

The Russian was practically biting his tongue off in an effort not the say something inappropriate to the American and therefore breaking character; especially when he received the patented Solo ‘Million Watt Smile’. He settled for rolling his eyes before moving on to the rest of the passengers.

Finally arriving at the corner table, Illya served half of the meal before a mug of coffee 'accidently' slipped from his hand. Apologising profusely, he dropped to his knees and began to clear the mess. He surreptitiously pulled the microphone disc from his pocket and attached it to the underneath of the table and switched it on. Beside Napoleon, the tape recorder automatically started up. With his part of the operation complete, Illya withdrew from the carriage and left Napoleon to listen in on the conversation.


………………………………………………………………………………………………………..


Half an hour later, Napoleon sought Illya out in the guard's van.

"Napoleon? What are you doing back here?"

"We have a teeny tiny problem," Solo told him. "Those two people aren't THRUSH agents."

Illya frowned. "What do you mean?"

Napoleon opened his briefcase, rewound the tape and set it away.

"Listen Merv, my sister is expecting us to stay for a week, so we're staying for a week."

"Don't get me wrong Bea. I love your sister, but I can't stand the idea of a week with her lazy bum of a husband."

"He won't be there most of the time."

"No, he'll be off getting tanked up."

Napoleon switched the tape off and looked, with confusion, at his partner.

"That could just be their cover," Illya pointed out. “Trying to throw any eavesdroppers off the scent.”

Napoleon shook his head. "Believe me, that isn't an act," he replied, forwarding the tape a little. “Listen.”

“And don’t get me started on the kids. They’re allowed to run feral.”

“Those are my nephews you’re talking about. Are you saying my sister is a bad mother?”

Napoleon stopped the tape again.

"That discussion escalated into a full blown argument about Bea's feckless brother-in-law and wild nephews."

"I don't understand,” Illya said with a shrug. “We knew which train to get, and we knew which table to bug. How did we get it wrong?”

Solo slid his communicator out and requested to be put through to Mr Waverly. When his superior answered, Napoleon explained the situation.

"Which train did you get?" The Old Man asked.

"The 1:10 from platform 5."

"Mr Solo! You were meant to be on the 1:05 from platform 10. You and Mr Kuryakin are to report straight to me as soon as you return. I’ll send another team to intercept the correct train. Hopefully we can still salvage something from your mess.”

Napoleon put his communicator back in his pocket and gave Illya a concerned look.

"I have a feeling our next assignment is going to be somewhere very cold or very hot."

Illya said nothing. He simply shrugged his shoulders and sat down to wait for the next station.

.

Comments

[jantojones.livejournal.com]

Thank you so much :-) I think, with Illya being a pragmatists, he just thinks 'Oh well, what's done is done'.