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section7mfu2016-02-02 01:37 pm
- gen,
- glennagirl,
- picfic,
- wip
The New Girl In Town part 2 - PicFic 2/2
Part 1
Taking artistic and literary license to assume the sink is filled with water as well as cat.
..........................
Trevor Dalton awoke to the most gruesome siege of pain, prickly and hard, merciless… Where was he? The last thing he remembered was falling into the snow before losing consciousness.
The woman tending to Dalton was attempting to be gentle but she knew how painful it was for muscle and flesh to come out of a frozen state. This poor man had come so very close to dying, but from which of his injuries she wasn't certain. He had come into the hospital with a bullet wound in his back, miraculously not imbedded in any vital organ or his spine but the cause of a great deal of blood loss. Hyperthermia was the other element to this near death scenario, but the patient seemed to be responding well to the treatments being administered.
Mon Dieu! How, she wondered, had this happened?
……
The flight to Paris had brought Solo and Kuryakin to France in record time, depositing them at Orly in the late afternoon. As of their departure, Agent Dancer had been in hiding for about five hours, and now she had spent the entire night and part of the day out of sight of the THRUSH who had probably killed Trevor Dalton. Or at least that was what was hoped by the two agents from New York.
At the curb outside of the terminal Illya spotted a rather laconic looking fellow; lanky, with a swatch of blond hair topped by a peculiar looking cap. He recognized Mark Slate from the photo given to them by Evangeline, and nudged his partner to look in the direction of the British agent.
Mark recognized both men and straightened up immediately from his leaning posture. The car upon which he had been reclined was a blue Citroen, the unofficial UNCLE car of choice when in France.
"Hello mates, welcome to Paris." The grin was infectious, friendly… nothing about Slate said UNCLE Agent. Napoleon supposed that was a good thing, but hesitated slightly as he wondered at the obvious disparity between his own appearance and this young Englishman. Even Illya looked less hip next to him.
"Mark Slate? Hello, I'm Napoleon Solo and this…"
"Illya Kuryakin, pleased to meet you." Illya was immediately aware of the hair, a vague imitation of his own and slightly darker. It was somehow comforting to know other men in the Command had broken away from the conventional appearance from past decades. The sixties were producing an entirely new breed of agent, and that didn't even touch on the fact they were all three now in search of a woman; a female agent in UNCLE.
"So, tell me Mr. Slate…" Mark seemed to recoil at the formality.
"Call me Mark. We're all on the same team, right?" Napoleon smiled, pleased that the new man was not anything like that Morton fellow who headed up the London office. He'd had several run ins with him and had anticipated someone like him showing up here in Paris. Mark Slate was a very different kind of agent.
"You're right, and thank you. I take it you know Miss Dancer, um… April. Do you have any idea where she is?" Mark's grin was a give away, and suddenly the mood lightened substantially.
"I do, and I'll take you there if we can all just climb aboard." He gestured broadly while opening the front door. Napoleon took shotgun while Illya climbed into the back seat. Within minutes the wild ride to April's hiding place began.
……..
April Dancer had managed to sleep, albeit with strange dreams and a restlessness that insured she would awake more fatigued than when she went to bed. The house was safe, she had no doubts about that, and Mark Slate was bringing reinforcements with him. Communications with UNCLE New York and London had assured her that things would be worked out by the end of the day.
She was still ruminating on a dream she had during the night. In it there was what seemed to be a hospital or doctor's office, and a sink full of water. What troubled her was what was in the sink: a cat seemed to floating beneath the surface of the water, staring at her as though trying to tell her something. In her dream the cat seemed very much alive, but the water… It was very confusing, and the thing that kept coming to her was that a cat has nine lives. What did that have to do with anything?
…….
Trevor Dalton was slowly coming back to himself, remembering everything that had transpired the previous day. He had passed the parcel off to April and sent her to the safe house outside of Paris. He was confident she would be safe, she was unknown to THRUSH and therefore not a target. He had continued on, trudging through the snow until he felt it, that sharp, hot pain of a bullet tearing through flesh and muscle.
Dalton stayed upright, but not for long. He was bleeding, his overcoat and suit jacket hiding the stain of it as it spread. Shock set in and he fell, the soft rain of snowflakes falling on him as he sunk into oblivion.
The THRUSH who shot him most certainly came upon him and searched for the parcel. Trevor was grateful that he hadn't killed him on the spot for the subterfuge.
"Monsieur, you are awake." The nurse was pleased that the handsome young man had survived his ordeal. Perhaps he could give her some information now, such as his name.
"Yes, yes I am. Do you happen to have my things? My wallet and a pen should have been in my pocket." The nurse shook her head at that.
"We did not find a wallet monsieur, but the pen was in your inside coat pocket and … I will get it for you."
Trevor sighed with relief at that. At least he could contact UNCLE and get out of here. The assassin must have taken his wallet, hoping perhaps to find that it was hiding the contents of the parcel.
"Tough luck, buddy." He snorted at the thought of disappointing THRUSH. At least there was that bit of satisfaction.
……….
Part 3
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