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section7mfuShort Affair 7/18
Prompt: Fever
Color: Black
Title: It Seemed Like a Good Idea at the Time
Author: Rose of Pollux
Word Count: 1000
Napoleon was one who always tried to hold onto hope, regardless of whatever situation he was in. His ability to do so had increased upon Illya being assigned as his partner; even though he hadn’t felt the need for a partner before, he had quickly realized that Illya was a partner he could depend upon.
But even the bravest soul couldn’t hold onto hope all of the time—especially when Napoleon was on his own. He had escaped from a THRUSH hideout after days of intense interrogation; he hadn’t cracked, and had managed to make a break for it, but he was bearing infected wounds from his questioning sessions, and the fever he had contracted from them had rendered him weak and delirious, lost somewhere in the forests of the Pacific Northwest. With a groan of pain, Napoleon fell forward, collapsing into the undergrowth.
They had taken his Special, communicator, and homing devices; he had no way to contact U.N.C.L.E., and his usual last hope—his partner—wasn’t there. He had no idea where Illya was right now; he was miles and miles away, perhaps on the other side of the planet, on his own mission—and it had been Napoleon’s idea that they take separate missions in the first place.
After being partners for two years, 1962 had brought rising tensions between the United States and the Soviet Union. The tensions between their home nations were not reflected between the two partners, who had intended to carry on with their lives as though nothing was happening. But others didn’t see things the same way as they had; the year had found Illya being called several times to the Soviet embassy in D.C.; for his part, Napoleon found himself contacted by various US government employees and had found himself called to D.C. for related meetings, as well.
“Do you ever get the feeling that we’re being found guilty by association?” Napoleon had once asked Illya after they had both returned from D.C. to the Manhattan apartment for a much-needed drink.
“Guilty of what?” Illya had asked, clearly vexed at what was going on.
“I don’t know, but they’re determined to find something,” Napoleon had sighed. “I guess hanging around a Soviet doesn’t exactly paint me as the shining beacon that some people in the government would prefer to see the youngest C.E.A. of U.N.C.L.E. as.”
“Do they not realize that I am your second-in-command and assigned partner?” Illya had queried.
“I think they’re selectively ignoring that.”
“In the same way that my people appear to be ignoring your status as the youngest C.E.A. and my assigned partner, as well,” Illya had admitted.
“Mmmh,” Napoleon had groaned, running a hand through his black hair in frustration. “I think Uncle Sam and Mother Russia would prefer it if we went back to our days as solo agents.”
“…Is that what you are suggesting?” Illya had asked, suddenly turning to look at him. His face had been neutral, but it had been clear to Napoleon that the idea had not been to his liking. Fair enough—the idea hadn’t been to Napoleon’s liking, either.
“Of course not! …Well, not full-time, anyway…” Napoleon had said. “I mean… Maybe just for a little bit—just a mission or two to placate everyone and show that we’re still good agents in our own right, and that I’m not trying to get you to defect or that you’re not trying to get me behind the Iron Curtain. Just enough to get everyone off our backs already; these frequent trips to D.C. just to be scrutinized are getting to be a pain, and it’s interfering with our efficiency. You remember how many successful missions we had this time last year? Nearly twice as many as we have this year. As C.E.A. and second-in-command, we have to do better—lead Section II by example.”
Illya hadn’t agreed, but he had sensed Napoleon’s frustrations at being scrutinized repeatedly by his own government (and, indeed, had shared those frustrations himself), and so he hadn’t spoken out against the idea as he had wanted to.
And now, as Napoleon continued to lie there on the forest floor, his body shaking with fevered chills, he was wishing that Illya had convinced him to drop the whole idea.
“Look at me… ‘leading by example,’ huh…?” he quietly berated himself as he heard the crunching of twigs underneath booted feet not too far from him. “All a THRUSHie has to do… is walk by… and finish me off.” He groaned, wincing in pain. “Stupid… stupid… stupid.”
He felt arms grab at him, turning him over, and he could only feebly try to pull away as an attempt at resistance. He expected to be hauled back towards the THRUSH hideout, but, instead, he felt the relieving sensation of a cold cloth gently being wiped across his forehead.
“Da, it was a stupid idea,” a familiar voice said. “But I understand why you thought it was necessary.”
Napoleon’s eyes snapped open to see Illya.
“Wha… what’re you doing here…?”
“I missed you,” Illya deadpanned. “And Mr. Waverly called me days ago when your homing signals vanished; he said that if there was anyone who could succeed in finding you, it would be me.” He continued to wipe Napoleon’s forehead with the cold cloth in one hand as he grabbed his communicator with the other. “Open Channel D; I’ve found Napoleon. I’m officially requesting extraction, and have medical aid ready.” He turned back to his partner. “They will be here soon; is there anything else I can do for you?”
The American gripped the Russian’s wrist.
“Don’t you go anywhere…” he said.
They exchanged glances, and Illya knew that Napoleon was no longer caring about being scrutinized; the best example they could give the rest of Section II—and, indeed, their home nations—was continuing to show that working together was the best option possible.
“I shall stay right with you,” Illya promised.
Napoleon relaxed, feeling better already.
Prompt: Fever
Color: Black
Title: It Seemed Like a Good Idea at the Time
Author: Rose of Pollux
Word Count: 1000
Napoleon was one who always tried to hold onto hope, regardless of whatever situation he was in. His ability to do so had increased upon Illya being assigned as his partner; even though he hadn’t felt the need for a partner before, he had quickly realized that Illya was a partner he could depend upon.
But even the bravest soul couldn’t hold onto hope all of the time—especially when Napoleon was on his own. He had escaped from a THRUSH hideout after days of intense interrogation; he hadn’t cracked, and had managed to make a break for it, but he was bearing infected wounds from his questioning sessions, and the fever he had contracted from them had rendered him weak and delirious, lost somewhere in the forests of the Pacific Northwest. With a groan of pain, Napoleon fell forward, collapsing into the undergrowth.
They had taken his Special, communicator, and homing devices; he had no way to contact U.N.C.L.E., and his usual last hope—his partner—wasn’t there. He had no idea where Illya was right now; he was miles and miles away, perhaps on the other side of the planet, on his own mission—and it had been Napoleon’s idea that they take separate missions in the first place.
After being partners for two years, 1962 had brought rising tensions between the United States and the Soviet Union. The tensions between their home nations were not reflected between the two partners, who had intended to carry on with their lives as though nothing was happening. But others didn’t see things the same way as they had; the year had found Illya being called several times to the Soviet embassy in D.C.; for his part, Napoleon found himself contacted by various US government employees and had found himself called to D.C. for related meetings, as well.
“Do you ever get the feeling that we’re being found guilty by association?” Napoleon had once asked Illya after they had both returned from D.C. to the Manhattan apartment for a much-needed drink.
“Guilty of what?” Illya had asked, clearly vexed at what was going on.
“I don’t know, but they’re determined to find something,” Napoleon had sighed. “I guess hanging around a Soviet doesn’t exactly paint me as the shining beacon that some people in the government would prefer to see the youngest C.E.A. of U.N.C.L.E. as.”
“Do they not realize that I am your second-in-command and assigned partner?” Illya had queried.
“I think they’re selectively ignoring that.”
“In the same way that my people appear to be ignoring your status as the youngest C.E.A. and my assigned partner, as well,” Illya had admitted.
“Mmmh,” Napoleon had groaned, running a hand through his black hair in frustration. “I think Uncle Sam and Mother Russia would prefer it if we went back to our days as solo agents.”
“…Is that what you are suggesting?” Illya had asked, suddenly turning to look at him. His face had been neutral, but it had been clear to Napoleon that the idea had not been to his liking. Fair enough—the idea hadn’t been to Napoleon’s liking, either.
“Of course not! …Well, not full-time, anyway…” Napoleon had said. “I mean… Maybe just for a little bit—just a mission or two to placate everyone and show that we’re still good agents in our own right, and that I’m not trying to get you to defect or that you’re not trying to get me behind the Iron Curtain. Just enough to get everyone off our backs already; these frequent trips to D.C. just to be scrutinized are getting to be a pain, and it’s interfering with our efficiency. You remember how many successful missions we had this time last year? Nearly twice as many as we have this year. As C.E.A. and second-in-command, we have to do better—lead Section II by example.”
Illya hadn’t agreed, but he had sensed Napoleon’s frustrations at being scrutinized repeatedly by his own government (and, indeed, had shared those frustrations himself), and so he hadn’t spoken out against the idea as he had wanted to.
And now, as Napoleon continued to lie there on the forest floor, his body shaking with fevered chills, he was wishing that Illya had convinced him to drop the whole idea.
“Look at me… ‘leading by example,’ huh…?” he quietly berated himself as he heard the crunching of twigs underneath booted feet not too far from him. “All a THRUSHie has to do… is walk by… and finish me off.” He groaned, wincing in pain. “Stupid… stupid… stupid.”
He felt arms grab at him, turning him over, and he could only feebly try to pull away as an attempt at resistance. He expected to be hauled back towards the THRUSH hideout, but, instead, he felt the relieving sensation of a cold cloth gently being wiped across his forehead.
“Da, it was a stupid idea,” a familiar voice said. “But I understand why you thought it was necessary.”
Napoleon’s eyes snapped open to see Illya.
“Wha… what’re you doing here…?”
“I missed you,” Illya deadpanned. “And Mr. Waverly called me days ago when your homing signals vanished; he said that if there was anyone who could succeed in finding you, it would be me.” He continued to wipe Napoleon’s forehead with the cold cloth in one hand as he grabbed his communicator with the other. “Open Channel D; I’ve found Napoleon. I’m officially requesting extraction, and have medical aid ready.” He turned back to his partner. “They will be here soon; is there anything else I can do for you?”
The American gripped the Russian’s wrist.
“Don’t you go anywhere…” he said.
They exchanged glances, and Illya knew that Napoleon was no longer caring about being scrutinized; the best example they could give the rest of Section II—and, indeed, their home nations—was continuing to show that working together was the best option possible.
“I shall stay right with you,” Illya promised.
Napoleon relaxed, feeling better already.
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Date: 2016-07-19 03:58 pm (UTC)