Untitled (because I can't think of one) - Short Affair - June 27th

[jantojones.livejournal.com]

Prompts - Pond/Gold
Word Count (Approx. 395)

Two minutes had already passed since Illya had dived into the water. All movement on the top of the pond was dissipating quickly; the reflection of the golden sunset settling into a solid image. Napoleon Solo held his breath in anticipation. His partner had been under the water too for far too long so he began to remove his jacket and shoes to go in after him. The reason for Illya’s current situation was lying unconscious on the ground by Solo’s feet.

The agents had been tailing the THRUSH courier for quite some time. It had begun when he had picked up a package, which was about the size of a house brick. They followed him right out of the city and into the country. The plan had been to follow man to his destination, but when his rear tyre suffered a blowout and he’d been forced to abandon his car. He had obviously realised that he was being followed and wasted no time in sprinting off into the woods.

Having no other choice, Napoleon and Illya had chased the man on foot. They caught up with him just as he was throwing the package into a pond. Solo took him down with a sleep dart while Illya sprinted on and dived into the pond. Neither of the agents knew what the package held. They were merely acting on a tip off that it could be worth their while to follow it.

Napoleon decided to wait thirty more seconds, and if Illya hadn’t emerged by then, he would go in and look for him. A grin appeared unbidden as the surface of the water broke and Illya appeared, gasping for breath. The Russian slowly swam back to the shore and flopped onto his back. He desperately drew the air into his tortured lungs. Solo waited for him to recover himself before asking about the package.

“No sign,” Kuryakin gasped. “It is far too murky in there. The package is lost.”

“You’re probably right, Tovarisch,” Napoleon agreed. “We have the courier. I’m sure we’ll get him to tell us where he was going.”

“I shall volunteer to interrogate him,” Illya said, as he got to his feet. “It will make up for the cold I am no doubt about to get.”

Solo patted his partner on the shoulder.

“Come on, let’s get him back to headquarters.


The End

Comments

[jkkitty.livejournal.com]

Don't think I want to be that messenger, Illya tends to be grumpy when he is ill

[jantojones.livejournal.com]

I think he'd better off with Illya than going back to his own superiors. At least illya won't actually kill him.

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

Angst and colds. Good little story here. How brilliant calling it 'Untitled!' There's been so many times that I racked my brain to come up with one and it never occurred to me to use that very handy word. lol!

[jantojones.livejournal.com]

Thank you :-)
Titles are the hardest part of any story I find. Sometimes they just don't come.

[spikesgirl58.livejournal.com]

Poor Illya. he does seem to catch cold with alarming frequency. I'm sure Napoleon will be happy to cobble together some home remedy to make him feel better.

[jantojones.livejournal.com]

I get the felling he will have tried every remedy known to humankind :-)

[glennagirl.livejournal.com]

Gasping for air, catching a cold... you have a deft hand when it comes to finding ways to torment Illya 😎

[jantojones.livejournal.com]

I'm beginning to wonder if I am under the influence of THRUSH.