"Illya's Plan"~ for PicFic Tuesday 1/19/16

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

They’d been locked up for hours now, with no one coming by to interrogate them, leaving Solo and Kuryakin to suppose that was a blessing. Both of them were becoming sicker as the hours passed, not knowing what sort of illness they’d caught...probably the flu. Which is probably why no one came to question them. Who knew if the UNCLE agents were contagious or not?

If they survived their illness, they might be questioned then, or simply shipped off to THRUSH Central. It was embarrassing how they'd gotten caught, simply being laid up in their hotel room. They'd both crawled into their beds, just settling down to rest when a herd of goods broke into their room. Though they had their specials at the ready, the UNCLE agents just didn't move fast enough and were overpowered.

The woke up in this cell...oh joy.

Napoleon and Illya knew they were being watched  as there was a security camera suspended from the ceiling on one side of their cell, It was stationary though, leaving a blind spot just in front of the bars.

Illya had tried his hand at picking the lock with a wire he had hidden in his mouth, wrapped around his back molars. Luckily their captors had missed it, as they’d found and confiscated every other UNCLE gadget the pair had on them.

After having no success at opening the lock, Napoleon took over; yet he too was struggling with it. His hands, like his partner’s were shaking too much.

“Why not try my backup plan?” Illya hissed as he was losing his patience. He kept asking Napoleon repeatedly.

“You know you’re not being any help here,” Solo spoke through gritted teeth. His head was pounding, and he knew his fever was getting worse. That was making his hands shake even more as he continued to struggle, trying to pick the lock to their cell.

“Napoleon,”Illya speech was beginning to slur as he was now more feverish than his partner.

”Why must you be such a durak? I am telling you a better way to do it. If you would listen to me we would already be out of here.”

“Knock it off. I know what I’m doing,” the American growled.

“No I will not. You are not the only one capable strate..strate...making a plan.”

“This from a guy who can’t even say the word...what was the one you were searching for, could it be strategizing?”

Illya leaned against the cell wall, his arms crossed in front of him. His lower lip was protruding more than usual as he was now pouting.

Napoleon looked over at the sad faced Soviet. “What’s wrong now.”

“Why do you make fun of my English. I speak more languages fluently than you do, I have eidetic memory and…”

“Hey you were the one who called me a fool.”

“Napoleon I apologize for calling you durak. At the moment, I am feeling frustrated that you will not give my plan a shot. I tried picking the lock already and failed. Truthfully you are having no more success than me.”

“All right,” Napoleon sighed. “What’s your plan?”

“I want you to pretend to hit me.”

“That’s it? Okay I’ll give it a shot...no pun intended. I’m not sure it’ll work but what the heck.”

“Thank you,” Illya said. “Now just step out where we will be in view of their security camera.

Illya readied himself, as this had to be orchestrated just right or it could end in disaster.

“I really don’t think this is going to work,,” Napoleon whispered.

“When they see you attacking me, they will have no other choice but to come here. Since you have thrown your punch, I will not be incapacitated as they will think. When they enter the cell, we jump them. It is as simple as that.”

“Nothing is ever that simple,” Napoleon quipped.

Illya sighed. “Shall we?”

“Ready when you are IK.” Solo wiped the perspiration from his brow with his sleeve.

Illya grabbed a bar on the cell door with his left hand to ready himself. Pointing to his chin, he grimaced as he mouthed the words.

“Hit me!”

Napoleon pulled back his arm and threw a mighty punch; hitting Illya square on the chin.

The Russian’s head shot back and he staggered around before falling onto one of the bunks; he was out cold.

“Oh crap,” Napoleon muttered. He’d missed and actually hit Illya, knocking him out. Boy did he screw up this plan.

Moments later the guards arrived. “Get back against the wall Solo,” one ordered him.

Napoleon complied, putting his hands on his head. There was no way in his condition he could take on two armed guards.

Picking up Kuryakin; they dragged him out of the cell.

“Where are you taking him?” Solo demanded.

“To the infirmary. The boss will be pretty mad if you hurt him.”

“Jeez and I thought these two were friends,” the other guard mumbled.

“Hey, I didn’t hit him that hard,” Napoleon called as they locked the door after themselves. He watched as they dragged his partner down the hall, out of view.

A moment later he heard a couple of grunts, followed by several thuds.

Seconds later Kuryakin appeared, carrying their guns slung over his shoulder; with one hand  massaging his jaw. He opened the cell door with the key, letting Napoleon out.

“Well my plan worked, despite your bungling. Next time please throw your punch properly?” Illya handed one of the carbines to Solo.

“Noted, and sorry about that tovarisch.”

“I will put it to your fever addled brain causing your miscalculation and leave it at that... on second thought, ”Illya paused,” next time I will be the one who gets to throw the punch. Now we should get going before they notice what has happened.”

What was the point in trying to argue with the Russian, as Solo knew he didn’t have a leg to stand on at the moment. Napoleon’s instincts told him Illya was going to get even with him for that punch, though at least it wouldn’t be now. Still he’d have to watch out...oh joy.

He humored his partner with a nod as the two of them dashed off to their freedom.