Winning Friends - Pic Fic 19th Jan

[otherhawk.livejournal.com]

This is late, sorry. And it's one I might possibly expand. At some point.

Winning Friends

“Any luck?” Napoleon asked him in an undertone as he sidled back to the cell door as casually as he could.

“No,” he said, shaking his head with a little huffing noise. “They do not trust me. Apparently they have seen me fraternising with an American.”

“Ah.” Napoleon regarded him ruefully for a moment. “I guess there's no point in me trying then.”

Illya rolled his eyes at him frustratedly. Really, nothing in this whole affair had gone to plan, and he was inclined to blame his partner. They had been supposed to make contact outside of the prison camp so a message could be passed to Ciesla and his people before they got thrown in here, but a couple of unexpected detours and a regrettably conspicuous gunfight had put paid to that idea. Now, there was no reason for Ciesla to trust them, and one glaring reason why they shouldn't. “Why is it that the moment you walk into any room everyone can always tell you are an American? You wear it like a beacon.”

“No one wears beacons,” Napoleon murmured.

Illya glared a little harder.

“Gee, pardon me my nationality,” Napoleon said, with a frustrated look of his own. “In case you've forgotten I'm generally the first to jump and defend you when one of my fellow countrymen takes exception to yours.”

He sighed. “True,” he conceded. “I apologise.” It was just irritating to have come so close and still be left empty handed. The information that Ciesla had could be enough to get this country free of THRUSH's pernicious influence – and they couldn't even identify who Ciesla was with enough certainty to reveal they were UNCLE agents. “Do we at least have a way out of here?”

Napoleon nodded. “This lock won't take much,” he said critically. “And there are three guards up the corridor, none of them paying much attention to the prisoners.”

A cell that would be easy to break out of. That was his favourite kind. “So all we need to do is persuade Ciesla's people that we are trustworthy,” he said gloomily.

Someone moved further up the room towards them. He could feel eyes burning into the back of his head, and hear the sound of angry muttering. It sounded like some of Ciesla's people he had spoken to earlier.

Hmmm. They were suspicious of him because of his association with Napoleon. “Perhaps it is time for us to try a different tack,” he said in a whisper.

“What do you have in mind?” Napoleon asked, equally quietly.

“American spies are not welcome here!” a man declared loudly from the back of the room, somehow managing to make it sound like he wasn't necessarily addressing them, he was just generally letting the room know.

The mood was ugly. This might work, or it might just spark a prison riot that got both of them severely inconvenienced. “Hit me,” he mouthed, gesturing at his face.

Napoleon gave him an incredulous look, and at this stage of the acquaintanceship it was shockingly easy to read the Really? That's your plan?

“Everyone likes a common enemy,” he hissed. “Just make it look good.”

Still, Napoleon looked doubtful. But he started to draw his fist back.

“If it helps, I was the one who told Carol about your grey hairs,” Illya whispered at the last moment.

Apparently it helped. Napoleon's fist crashed into his face, hard enough to send him reeling back, falling helplessly into the closest bed.

The world swam sickeningly before his eyes.

Oh, Ciesla's information had better be worth this.

Comments

[rose-of-pollux.livejournal.com]

Oooh, vanity, thy name is Solo! Well, not really, but in this case, maybe.

I, too, would like to see where this goes!

[otherhawk.livejournal.com]

Thank you! I think he can be a little vain from time to time.