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section7mfuApologies, but this is a day late due to circumstances beyond my control...
Short Affair 7/4
Prompt: Immobile
Color: Purple
Title: Everyone Knows it's Windy, pt II
Author: Rose of Pollux
Word Count: ~810
Continuation of this piece, but can be read independently of it.
In hindsight, Illya probably should have paid more attention when Napoleon had warned him that, sometimes, multiple tornadoes struck in one day during tornado season. After they had made it through the first tornado back at the diner, he and Napoleon had attempted to pick up the trail of the THRUSH agent they had been tailing before the storm hit.
Conditions hadn’t changed too much from before the first tornado, and even Napoleon, seasoned with experience in Tornado Alley, should have sensed something amiss. But the thrill of the chase distracted him at a critical moment as they spotted the THRUSHie heading into a warehouse.
They had just apprehended the THRUSHie when Illya suddenly cringed as his ears popped and the audible sounds of hail and heavy rain pelting the warehouse were overcome by the roaring of the winds outside. Napoleon swore and once again tackled Illya down, aiming to cover him as best he could.
When it was over, Illya was suddenly aware of the fact that he was quickly getting drenched—and that they were completely surrounded by plywood, plaster, and chunks of wall and ceiling.
“Napoleon?” he croaked.
There was no response. Illya tried to move to get a better vantage point, but soon realized that he couldn’t; a large chunk of plaster had landed on top of Napoleon in such a way that he was now pinned in position, which had still been trying to shield Illya. Napoleon’s plan had worked; Illya was unharmed, but Napoleon’s selflessness had rendered him unconscious, and the both of them immobile—at least, Illya hoped Napoleon had only been rendered unconscious.
“Napoleon!”
Illya turned his head as best he could, and he succeed in getting his face right up against Napoleon’s. In his peripheral vision, Illya could see that Napoleon had a cut on his cheek and an angry, purple bruise on his forehead. But, more importantly, Illya could feel Napoleon’s breath on his face, and the Russian let out the breath he had been holding in all this time.
With his options limited, Illya gently nudged his head against Napoleon’s repeatedly. It took a while, but his efforts paid off as Napoleon groaned, but then awakened.
“Illya…?” he murmured.
“Present,” the Russian sighed.
“…What are you doing?”
“At the moment, serving as both your medical aide and your mattress. How do you feel?”
“…Like I ran into a wall.”
“That may be accurate—I think part of a wall has fallen on us,” Illya said, sounding a lot calmer than he felt. “Or perhaps part of the ceiling. I cannot move to verify, and I suspect you cannot move, as well.”
He felt Napoleon try to move, but quickly give up.
“Nope—I’m pinned.”
“I thought as much…”
“What about the THRUSHie?” Napoleon asked.
“You had handcuffed him before the tornado hit,” Illya recalled. “I presume that he still is. At any rate, if he were free and armed, we would be dead now—I doubt he would have been able to resist two sitting ducks such as us.”
“Ah. Can you reach your communicator?”
“No; my right arm is pinned under me, and my left arm can’t reach my right pocket. How about you?”
“My communicator is—or was--unfortunately right where the plaster is pinning me. But maybe I can reach yours…”
It took some maneuvering, but soon, the duo had Channel D opened, relaying their predicament. It was halfway through the transmission that they heard a panicked yelling from nearby.
“What in Heaven’s name is that!?” Waverly queried.
“I believe that is the THRUSH grunt that Napoleon and I apprehended,” Illya deadpanned. “I think we can surmise that his situation is no better than ours.”
“…I see,” Waverly said. “Well, we’ll take him into our custody when we free the two of you. In the meantime, Mr. Kuryakin, it’ll be your responsibility to see to it that Mr. Solo stays awake until Medical can look him over to make sure he has no concussion.”
“Understood, Sir.”
“And Mr. Solo?”
“Yes, Sir?”
“I’d like to talk to you about adding tornado survival to the list of skills that field agents need to learn. I feel that you and Mr. Kuryakin would be the best ones to teach this. …We can discuss this later, of course.”
“Right, Sir.”
Napoleon sighed and glanced at Illya in his peripheral vision as the channel closed.
“Well?” he asked.
“I would shrug if I could, but I cannot,” Illya said.
He could see Napoleon grin in his periphery.
“Napoleon?”
“Uh-huh?”
“Thank you.”
“Hey, if I could spare you a knock on the head, it’s worth it. Goodness knows you’ve had a lot of those lately…”
And as they continued to quietly converse, ignoring the yells of the THRUSH grunt, the both of them had to agree that, in their line of work, there were definitely worse things than being trapped together.
Short Affair 7/4
Prompt: Immobile
Color: Purple
Title: Everyone Knows it's Windy, pt II
Author: Rose of Pollux
Word Count: ~810
Continuation of this piece, but can be read independently of it.
In hindsight, Illya probably should have paid more attention when Napoleon had warned him that, sometimes, multiple tornadoes struck in one day during tornado season. After they had made it through the first tornado back at the diner, he and Napoleon had attempted to pick up the trail of the THRUSH agent they had been tailing before the storm hit.
Conditions hadn’t changed too much from before the first tornado, and even Napoleon, seasoned with experience in Tornado Alley, should have sensed something amiss. But the thrill of the chase distracted him at a critical moment as they spotted the THRUSHie heading into a warehouse.
They had just apprehended the THRUSHie when Illya suddenly cringed as his ears popped and the audible sounds of hail and heavy rain pelting the warehouse were overcome by the roaring of the winds outside. Napoleon swore and once again tackled Illya down, aiming to cover him as best he could.
When it was over, Illya was suddenly aware of the fact that he was quickly getting drenched—and that they were completely surrounded by plywood, plaster, and chunks of wall and ceiling.
“Napoleon?” he croaked.
There was no response. Illya tried to move to get a better vantage point, but soon realized that he couldn’t; a large chunk of plaster had landed on top of Napoleon in such a way that he was now pinned in position, which had still been trying to shield Illya. Napoleon’s plan had worked; Illya was unharmed, but Napoleon’s selflessness had rendered him unconscious, and the both of them immobile—at least, Illya hoped Napoleon had only been rendered unconscious.
“Napoleon!”
Illya turned his head as best he could, and he succeed in getting his face right up against Napoleon’s. In his peripheral vision, Illya could see that Napoleon had a cut on his cheek and an angry, purple bruise on his forehead. But, more importantly, Illya could feel Napoleon’s breath on his face, and the Russian let out the breath he had been holding in all this time.
With his options limited, Illya gently nudged his head against Napoleon’s repeatedly. It took a while, but his efforts paid off as Napoleon groaned, but then awakened.
“Illya…?” he murmured.
“Present,” the Russian sighed.
“…What are you doing?”
“At the moment, serving as both your medical aide and your mattress. How do you feel?”
“…Like I ran into a wall.”
“That may be accurate—I think part of a wall has fallen on us,” Illya said, sounding a lot calmer than he felt. “Or perhaps part of the ceiling. I cannot move to verify, and I suspect you cannot move, as well.”
He felt Napoleon try to move, but quickly give up.
“Nope—I’m pinned.”
“I thought as much…”
“What about the THRUSHie?” Napoleon asked.
“You had handcuffed him before the tornado hit,” Illya recalled. “I presume that he still is. At any rate, if he were free and armed, we would be dead now—I doubt he would have been able to resist two sitting ducks such as us.”
“Ah. Can you reach your communicator?”
“No; my right arm is pinned under me, and my left arm can’t reach my right pocket. How about you?”
“My communicator is—or was--unfortunately right where the plaster is pinning me. But maybe I can reach yours…”
It took some maneuvering, but soon, the duo had Channel D opened, relaying their predicament. It was halfway through the transmission that they heard a panicked yelling from nearby.
“What in Heaven’s name is that!?” Waverly queried.
“I believe that is the THRUSH grunt that Napoleon and I apprehended,” Illya deadpanned. “I think we can surmise that his situation is no better than ours.”
“…I see,” Waverly said. “Well, we’ll take him into our custody when we free the two of you. In the meantime, Mr. Kuryakin, it’ll be your responsibility to see to it that Mr. Solo stays awake until Medical can look him over to make sure he has no concussion.”
“Understood, Sir.”
“And Mr. Solo?”
“Yes, Sir?”
“I’d like to talk to you about adding tornado survival to the list of skills that field agents need to learn. I feel that you and Mr. Kuryakin would be the best ones to teach this. …We can discuss this later, of course.”
“Right, Sir.”
Napoleon sighed and glanced at Illya in his peripheral vision as the channel closed.
“Well?” he asked.
“I would shrug if I could, but I cannot,” Illya said.
He could see Napoleon grin in his periphery.
“Napoleon?”
“Uh-huh?”
“Thank you.”
“Hey, if I could spare you a knock on the head, it’s worth it. Goodness knows you’ve had a lot of those lately…”
And as they continued to quietly converse, ignoring the yells of the THRUSH grunt, the both of them had to agree that, in their line of work, there were definitely worse things than being trapped together.
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